


True North

by Zai42



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Daemons, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Daemon Separation, Gen, Ghosts, Magic, Mystery, Non Consensual Daemon Touching, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-29
Updated: 2018-09-29
Packaged: 2019-07-18 17:42:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 27,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16123532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zai42/pseuds/Zai42
Summary: It isn't that everything leads back to Ny-Ålesund, but it's as good a lead as any.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I can't believe this is finally finished! I'm so excited to share it, and I had a great time writing it, even as it got jossed in new and exciting ways with each passing week. :P
> 
> Also I want to scream about the art I received as a treat for the rest of my life, so please go look at it and love it as much as I do: 
> 
> http://magictavern.tumblr.com/post/178595015523/one-of-my-treats-for-the-pilesofnonsense-tma-big

It wasn't that everything led back to Ny-Ålesund, because frankly, nothing led anywhere. It was all a mess of statements and places and half-baked theories and leads that all only led to more of the same. But Svalbard was as good as anywhere else, and when Jon brought it up with Elias, he seemed more than willing to lend Institute funds to the trip.

"Why not take some of your assistants with you?" Sibyl asked, as Jon turned towards the door.

Cecilea swiveled her head around to stare at her from her perch on Jon's shoulder. "Why," she said, not even a question as much as it was a statement of her distrust. She stared unblinkingly at Sibyl as Jon turned slowly on his heel.

Elias raised an eyebrow at his daemon, then turned back to Jon, his features returned to a smooth deadpan. "You're not the only one who needs..." He gestured vaguely. "Practice. And besides, perhaps it would be good for them to take a vacation."

"To above the Arctic Circle?" Jon said contemptuously.

Elias actually laughed, a low chuckle that sounded genuine enough. Cecilea ruffled her feathers, irritated. "Well, ask them or don't, it's up to you. Just let me know when you have all the details sorted and we'll get you on your way." Jon and Cecilea both glowered, and Jon stalked out of the office in pointed silence. Cecilea took off from her perch on his shoulder and kept pace with him as he descended the staircase.

"I don't trust that damn swan," she said.

"Don't need to tell me twice," Jon muttered darkly. He paused as he reached the bottom of the stairs, frowning absently at the banister. Cecilea landed on it, tilting her head dramatically at him. "Should we--?"

"No," she said immediately, then huffed. "Maybe. We did tell Georgie we'd try to be more..." Jon stroked a hand down her back, combing out a few loose feathers.

"Maybe none of them will want to come," he said, sounding more hopeful than he felt.

"Come where?" a voice asked, and Cecilea's head whipped around to look behind her. Basira gave her an exaggerated wince. "God, that's freaky," she said. She crouched, scooping up Amosis and holding him up so the little turtle could properly greet Cecilea. "Are you leaving again?"

Jon sighed. "Yes. To Ny-Ålesund. Elias...wanted me to ask if any of you would be interested in joining me." Allowing Cecilea to hop onto his arm, he started making his way towards the Archives. His daemon fixed her bright orange gaze on him, and Jon forced himself to choke out, "He's never mentioned taking any of you along before, and I'm...concerned." Basira nodded thoughtfully, and Jon was glad it was Basira he was trying to open up to; she took things in stride, and that made it easier. Better than falling into an angry, anxious feedback loop with Tim or Martin.

"Are you going to tell them?" she finally asked.

"I don't..." He fell silent as they entered the Archives, glancing around the room for any potential eavesdroppers. He ushered her into his office--rarely used, these days--and shut the door behind them. Cecilea flew across the room to settle on the perch on his desk. "I have no idea why Elias suggested it, and that alone worries me," Jon said in a rapid whisper, his mouth twisting in a frown. "I'm sure it will be dangerous--"

"Maybe that's why he suggested it," Basira said. She placed Amosis on the desk, where he peered up at Cecilea and blinked slowly.

"You think he's trying to put you in danger?"

Amosis snorted, and Cecilea puffed up defensively.

"Maybe he wants you to have someone backing you up," Basira said, her tone vaguely placating in contrast to her daemon's amusement. "I mean, Elias is a lot of things, but he's pragmatic. I don't think he'd send us to die for the fun of it."

She hesitated for a moment. From the desk, Amosis piped up, "Maybe to protect you, but not for no reason."

"That isn't much better," Cecilea muttered. "It was Sibyl who suggested it," she added suddenly.

"Does that make a difference?" Basira asked, genuinely curious rather than dismissive or incredulous.

Amosis and Cecilea exchanged a look; Amosis retreated slightly into his shell, and Cecilea shuffled uncomfortably before saying carefully, "Sibyl feels... _wrong,_ sometimes."

"Elias--" Basira started, but then stopped and reconsidered. "Wrong...how?" she asked, glancing between her daemon, Cecilea, and Jon. "More wrong than just Elias?"

"I...I don't know," Jon said, pinching the bridge of his nose. "We've talked about it before--we hadn't even noticed until..." He gestured broadly, at the office in general, and Basira nodded in understanding. "It isn't important," Jon continued. "I...I'll just tell Elias I'm going alone. I--"

"I think you should take Martin," Basira said, and Cecilea let out a very undignified squawk.

_"Martin?"_

"Maybe Tim, too," Amosis added, stretching his neck out again.

Jon stared in horror and vague betrayal. "But-- _why?"_ he finally sputtered.

"They aren't doing well here, Jon," Basira said. Cecilea flew across the room with one flap of her wings, and Jon opened his arms to her without taking his eyes off Basira. "I think they need to get out for a while. This isn't perfect, but it would be something."

Jon cradled Cecilea against his chest, stroking his fingers along her spine absently. "And you and Melanie--"

"We'll be okay." Amosis had retreated all the way into his shell, Jon noticed. Basira followed his gaze and scooped up her daemon in a too-casual movement, hiding him against her chest. "Besides, Martin frets when you're gone," she said. "Maybe he won't if he's with you."

"Unless something happens," Jon said.

"How many things have happened to us here?" Basira said; her voice had no edge of accusation to it, only cool logic, but Jon still glanced away, unable to hold her gaze.

"I'll...ask," Jon said. He sighed. "I'm sure Martin will leap at the chance, of course. Tim, at least, might have the good sense to stay here."

* * *

Tim shrugged one shoulder. "Sure," he said blandly.

It took Cecilea digging her talons into Jon's shoulder to keep his mouth from falling open. "Sure?" Jon repeated. "You realize it's _with me,_ right?" he couldn't stop himself from adding.

Sellig actually snickered at that; it was bitter, but sounded genuine in spite of that. "Better you than Elias," Sellig responded. "Besides," he added, "someone has to keep Martin from dying for you."

"We don't want--"

"But he _would,"_ Tim said, his lip curling. Jon wasn't certain who his darkness was even directed towards, anymore. Himself or Elias or Martin or maybe just the Institute as a whole.

"Yes," Jon said, feeling distant and despairing. "Well. In that case, I'll handle the preparations." He lingered for a moment at Tim's desk, vaguely wondering if there was something more to be said, but then Sellig hissed at him--not loudly, closer to just baring his teeth than actually snarling, but Jon took the hint and fled back to his office, leaving Tim and his raccoon daemon to mutter darkly to each other.

Martin was waiting by his office when Jon arrived, Theo at his feet and a stack of books and files in his arms. "Oh, Jon, there you are! Did you talk to Tim? Is he going to come with us?"

Cecilea let out the tiniest, most inaudible of sighs in Jon's ear. Jon ignored her. "He is," he said, ushering Martin and Theo into the office ahead of him. "What's all this?"

"Oh, well I remembered hearing the name Ny-Ålesund before, so I pulled some old statements," Martin said as his rabbit daemon bounced up onto a chair, then stood with her front paws on Jon's desk, her nose twitching. "And then I thought, you know, it might be a good idea to know about the place even without the--all the other things to worry about, so I got some history and geography books, and a few beginner's Norwegian guides--um." Cecilea and Jon had both turned their eyes on Martin, and he shifted a little awkwardly under their combined stare.

"It's only been an hour," Cecilea eventually said, and blinked.

"Well, Basira helped with the books," Theo replied.

Jon shook his head. "Well--well done, I suppose, but I don't know how much time there will be for research. I imagine Elias will want us to leave as soon as possible."

"That's probably for the best," Martin agreed. "I mean--don't want to get caught up there in the winter."

"No," Jon said quickly. "No, we'll be trying to stay as firmly within the range of the midnight sun as possible. Night shouldn't fall at all while we're up there."

"Unless something goes horrifically wrong," Cecilea grumbled. Theo's ears drooped. "Which it--shouldn't?" she added, unconvincingly.

"Well, I'll make copies of the statements at least," Martin said.

"And I think the Library has ebook versions of some of the language guides!" Theo added, her ears perking up again as she turned to Martin. He scooped her up into his free arm, holding her against his chest.

"I'll let you know when I get the details from Elias," Jon said. "For now...take the day to deal with preparations, if you like. It's not like there's any investigations to be done until we leave."

Martin nodded. "If there's anything you want me to take care of, let me know." He turned to leave, then paused at the door. Theo peered at Jon over Martin's shoulder. "And...thanks, for letting me come with you," Martin said, and vanished before Jon could formulate a reply.

Jon sank into the chair behind his desk with a heavy sigh, and Cecilea hopped off his shoulder into his lap. She closed her eyes as Jon scritched the top of her head. "See if he thanks us in a month," she muttered darkly.

"Mmm," Jon said. His eyes drifted towards his laptop, open on top of a pile of statements. He had a notification for a new email; he opened it to find Elias had forwarded him three plane tickets to Longyearbyen, hotel reservations, and a note.

_You'll have to stay in Longyearbyen a few nights before my contact can arrive to pick you up. We have people in Ny-Ålesund proper who are willing to let you stay with them for as long as you need. Good luck._

They were to leave Friday morning. Two days. "I hate when he does this," Cecilea grumbled from Jon's lap. She opened one eye; Jon realized he had stopped petting her and resumed apologetically.

"I'll send this along to the others, I suppose," Jon said. He pressed a hand to his eyes, the beginnings of a headache building. _"Good luck,"_ he muttered, and forwarded the message.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon, Martin, and Tim arrive in Longyearbyen. Melanie and Basira plot. Elias continues to be a creep.

Jon had, in recent months, become accustomed to airports. That wasn't to say he _liked_ airports, or was _comfortable_ in airports--he was rarely comfortable anywhere--but he was used to them. Still, getting up at an ungodly hour of the morning, piling into Basira's sensible but cramped car, and listening to Martin's anxious babbling for several hours was proving to be a strain on his nerves. Cecilea sat stock still on top of his luggage, glaring out at the world at large as if just daring someone to _try her._

  
At least, Jon mused as Martin fretted about their layover in Oslo for the _third time,_ Tim was in as much a cheery mood as he was.

  
"Jon, you wanna come get coffee?" Tim asked abruptly, his voice just slightly too loud, cutting off Martin as he mused about their passports.

  
"Yes!" Jon said, a bit too eagerly, leaping out of his seat. He cleared his throat. "Would you like me to get you something, Martin?"

  
"Oh, um, maybe something to eat? I can give you money, hold on--"

  
"No need," Jon said, digging through his wallet. "The Institute's paying."

  
"We'll get you the fanciest bagel money can buy," Sellig said, patting Theo once on the nose before climbing up Tim's leg. "Just keep an eye on the luggage."

  
"I don't know how he's so talkative at this hour," Tim muttered as they headed towards the Starbucks. Jon wasn't sure if he was talking to him or to Sellig, but he made a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat. "Maybe we should get him decaff so he'll sleep on the plane."

  
A far-too-chipper barista waved at them as they entered the mostly-deserted Starbucks. "Good morning!" she said brightly; her hamster daemon scrambled up her arm to settle on her shoulder. "What can I get for you today?"

  
"Three of the most expensive breakfast sandwiches on your menu," Tim said, before Jon could reply. "And one of those frappacino things, I don't care what's in it, just make sure it's pricey and caffeinated. And whatever he's getting." Tim glanced back to catch Jon looking at him with a wary expression. Sellig's tail twitched. "Look, if Elias didn't want me to blow Institute funds on overpriced coffee, he shouldn't have given us a card, now should he have?"

  
"...Right," Jon said. He turned to the barista, who was determinedly smiling as though she hadn't heard the last part of what Tim had said. "Uh. Just a black coffee for me. And...tea?"

  
"Sure!" she said. "We have shaken iced fruit tea, matcha lemonades, chai lattes--"

  
"You're confusing him," Tim called from where he was gathering up sugar packets. "Just give him an Earl Grey."

  
When they returned to Martin, he and Theo were flipping through a language guide and murmuring softly to each other. Theo looked up first, ears quivering, and seemed surprised that Jon and Tim had returned without having torn each other to pieces. Martin accepted his sandwich and tea, eyed Tim's enormous iced mocha monstrosity with mild suspicion, and decided not to comment on it. "Thank you," he said instead, then glanced down at the book in his lap, said, _"Tusen takk_ \--um, I'm not sure I pronounced that right..." and flipped towards the back for a pronunciation guide. 

* * *

Melanie loomed over the kettle in the break room, her mouth twisted into a thoughtful scowl. Behind her, Roland paced irritably, his hooves clicking on the linoleum tiles. Neither of them spoke aloud--their expectations of privacy had lowered considerably in the past few months--but the connection between them crackled in a feedback loop of general impatience. When the kettle beeped, Melanie snatched it up and began making two cups of tea with a clipped, aggressive professionalism. She was staring at the expiration date on a carton of milk when Basira entered the room.

  
"They're off, then?" Melanie asked. She sniffed the milk, wrinkled her nose, and decided not to risk it, placing it back in the fridge in the absent hope that it would annoy Elias.

  
"Uh huh," Basira said around a yawn, settling in at the tiny table in the corner. "Thanks," she added as Melanie passed her a mug. "Just us now."

  
"Yup," Melanie said, collapsing into the chair across from Basira. "Got any big plans for today?" she asked, dumping a generous spoonful of sugar into her tea.

  
"Found some biographies I might try to get through."

  
Beneath the table, Roland and Amosis huddled close together, Amosis' head stretched toward's the ram's downturned ear. They murmured almost sub-audibly while Melanie and Basira chattered inanely above them; about Elias, about what Cecilea had said about Sibyl, pointedly not about plans or conspiracies. They had developed something of a code language, plucked from one of the books Basira had been devouring, but they didn't trust it enough to talk about subverting Elias, even like this. Not in the Institute.

  
"Well," Melanie said loudly, standing and stretching until her joints popped, "I'm going to see if I can go through and find anything useful to send them for when they land." Roland wriggled out from under the table, butting his head gently against Melanie's hip. She rested a hand on one of his horns. "See you for lunch?"

  
Basira lifted her mug in an absent salute.

* * *

The layover in Oslo wasn't long enough to do much more than grab a snack and check the internet. Jon sat tucked in a corner with a cup of tea and a neglected granola bar, scrolling through his emails on his phone, Cecilea reading from her perch on the back of his chair. Melanie had sent him a brief summary of a statement from the 1800s (apparently the exact date had been lost, something about an ink spill), of an astronomer staying with the witches, but it was all vague conjecture, musings about witch clans acting strangely and odd lights in the arctic winter skies.

  
"Useless," Jon muttered darkly, frowning at his phone screen. "How else do witches act if not strangely?"

  
Cecilea snorted, her head rotating as she swept the room for eavesdroppers. "Ask her to try and record it," she said. "At least we can know if there's anything to it."

  
Jon was just finishing up a very carefully worded reply to Melanie (better to be polite than risk her ignoring him out of spite) when Martin came to fetch him for boarding. "You should finish eating, it's a bit of a flight," he said, hovering awkwardly.

  
Jon took an obedient nibble from a corner of his granola bar and Martin beamed at him. "Less nervous now?" Jon asked, sending his email and starting to gather his things.

  
"Oh! Well--yes, I suppose. I, um. I'd never flown before today, so..." Martin trailed off, held out a hand in a silent offer to hold onto Jon's paper cup as he collected his luggage. "It's kind of nice, actually. Tim let me have the window seat."

  
"Where _is_ Tim?"

  
"He just came out of the coffee place," Cecilea piped up. She swiveled her head to face forwards again. "He's on his way over."

  
Jon sighed and held out his arm so his daemon could hop onto his wrist, her talons sinking into the fabric of his sweater. "At least spending Institute money seems to have improved his mood," he said, scanning the crowd until he saw Tim, Sellig coiled around his shoulders with his ringed tail twitching in the air.

  
"I think he's just happy to be away from the place," Martin said, scooping Theo up into his arms. "I mean...m-maybe happy is...stretching it, but. I think it's good you invited him. Us."

  
Jon frowned; Cecilea went stiff on his shoulder, her feathers bristling against his neck. "Make sure you have something warm on for when we land," was all he could bring himself to say.

* * *

Their hotel in Longyearbyen was the kind of rustic that was mostly put on for tourists, with exposed wooden beams and detailed ink maps and a fireplace crackling cheerily in the lounge. Check-in went smoothly, until they discovered that 1) Elias had booked them one triple room, and 2) triple rooms consisted of two bunk beds. For one drawn-out moment, Jon stood frozen in the doorway, too exhausted from travel to even muster up the proper indignant shock. He just blinked owlishly while Cecilea let out a low, exasperated hoot.

  
"What's the holdup, boss?" Tim asked, nudging Jon aside. "Is there another bearskin in--oh. Oh for fuck's sake."

  
"What's going on?" Martin peered over Jon's shoulder. "Oh...well, that's not so bad, right?"

  
Jon sighed and entered the room, dragging his luggage over to table against the far wall and fishing through his suitcase for his laptop. "It's just for a few days," he muttered. "Until we leave for Ny-Ålesund. I won't be sleeping much, anyway, so you can--"

  
"Look, I can sleep wherever, I don't mind--" Martin said simultaneously.

  
"Oh my god," Tim grumbled. He dumped his bag against the wall and clambered gracefully onto the top bunk of the bed in the far corner; Sellig climbed the wall and hopped into bed beside him. "I'm taking a nap!" he announced loudly. "Try to handwring at a low volume, if it's all the same to you." He rolled over, tossing the blankets over himself and his daemon, leaving just Sellig's tail hanging over the edge of the bed.

  
Jon and Martin exchanged an awkward look. "A nap might not be a bad idea," Jon said, more quietly. "It's been a long day."

  
"Yeah," Martin said in a whisper. "I might...read a bit. Let me know if you need me."

  
For a while it was almost comfortable, sitting in a room deliberately structured to feel cozy and warm, with Martin curled up with a book on a bunk nearby and Tim's faint snores coming from the top bunk. Cecilea had settled on the windowsill, a puffed up little ball of feathers staring out at the view of the city. If not for the fact that Jon was reading an email from Melanie that the astronomer's statement hadn't recorded digitally, he would almost have felt relaxed.

* * *

It was strange to wake up, check the time, and then roll over to see sunlight in the window. Sellig sat up on his haunches and stared at the window, at Cecilea silhouetted against the light, at Jon furiously typing something on his laptop. Tim leaned over the side of the bed to stare, upside-down, at Martin and Theo on the bunk below, dozing with a book open in Martin's lap. He huffed, then hopped off the bed and landed catlike on the floor; Sellig jumped after him, landing on his back and scrambling up to his usual place around his shoulders.

  
"Gonna go for a walk," Tim said, barely looking up from lacing up his shoes and throwing on his coat.

  
Across the room, Jon started, looking up from his laptop screen and rubbing his eyes. "I didn't realize you'd--what time is--wait, Tim, be caref--"

  
Tim shut the door, cutting off Jon's sentence midway through. He looped a scarf over one shoulder, creating a makeshift sling for Sellig to hunker down in. "Where are we going?" Sellig asked, once he was cuddled up against Tim's chest with his tail tucked up between his paws.

  
Tim shrugged. "Just out," he said. "Should've asked for the credit card, but..."

  
They wandered out into the cold. It was mostly quiet-- aside from a few students, some locals, the occasional tourist--and for the most part, they were left alone. Tim wandered aimlessly, past the museum, slipping between buildings and away from the busiest part of town, until he was wandering along the coastline, staring out at the bay. (He would have liked to keep going, but despite what Jon might think, he'd read the rules. The _panserbjørne_ who came to town to trade kept the worst of the predators away, but you weren't supposed to leave city limits without a weapon, and Tim wasn't quite far gone enough for his death wish to include "ripped to shreds by wild animals.") He let his legs fold beneath him, one arm coming up to cradle Sellig more closely against his chest. _Danny would love this shit,_ he thought, but didn't say aloud. Still, Sellig tucked himself beneath his chin and whined, and they sat in the cold and watched the water without speaking.

  
Tim wasn't certain how long they had been sitting there when Sellig nipped at his ear and hissed, "Tim, someone's watching us."

  
Tim went tense immediately, his fingers clenching in Sellig's fur, a hot rush of anger slicing through the numbing cold air. He was on his feet and whirling around before he had time to think, to worry about alerting his stalker that he knew they were there. For a moment he stood trembling, eyes scanning the landscape around him for a foreboding figure that he half-expected to be Elias, imperious and inescapable. Then Sellig grasped his face in his paws and tilted his head upwards, towards they sky. "There!"

  
Tim looked. From a distance, it was hard to say what exact species of bird the daemon flying away was, but it was just that--a daemon. Tim scanned the hills again, looking for someone it could be fleeing to, then back towards the sky. The daemon was flying back towards town, too high up to be within a comfortable range for a normal person. Tim found himself clutching Sellig closer.

  
"What the fuck was that?" Sellig whispered, finally looking away from the rapidly vanishing speck in the sky.

  
Tim shook his head. "We should get back."

  
They picked their way back through town, keeping half an eye out for any mysterious daemons watching from the rooftops, though they weren't particularly surprised not to see one. Entering the hotel, the receptionist offered him a smile. "Welcome back! Did you have a nice walk?" he asked, in mildly accented English. Tim glanced at his daemon--an almost offensively cute little beaver--then nodded, satisfied that he wasn't being stalked by hotel staff. Not that that had seemed _particularly_ likely, but still.

  
He was halfway out of the lounge when he paused, then turned back and asked, "Oh, um, this might be a weird question, but do you often see...unaccompanied daemons, around here?"

  
The receptionist laughed, which was oddly comforting. "Oh, did one catch you off guard? Yeah, this far north you get those now and then. Witches, you know."

  
"Yeah," Tim said, hoping he sounded more at ease than he felt. "Thanks."

* * *

Sibyl's feathers ruffled as she refocused her attention to the Institute. Coming back was always--strange. Especially when she went alone. Seeing took so much out of them, and it was easier on both of them to only look one at a time, but it meant finding the way back to the Institute was...not harder, not quite. Just lonelier, longer, the physical spaces resolving in a slow fade rather than a smash cut.

  
It still felt cold when Sibyl found herself back in her usual spot on the window seat, Elias watching her with perfect patience.

  
Once, lying to him, even a lie of omission, would have been impossible. Now, Sibyl stretched her wings, met his gaze, and said, "Tim was off sulking for an hour or so, but they've all arrived safely. Nothing unexpected so far. Nobody else even knows where they are."

  
"Nobody?" Elias repeated, and Sibyl felt no panic, just the cold awareness of her lie, sitting heavy in her chest. Then: "Presumably the witches' doing. We know how they are about...prying eyes."

  
Sibyl bowed her head. "I felt no interference, but I imagine things will be more difficult once they move north. I--"

  
She cut herself off at the same moment Elias tilted his head. He sighed, stood, and walked to the door, opening it and leaning out into the hallway. "Melanie, I'm busy, can we do this later?"

  
Sibyl saw it clearly, the look of wide-eyed and utterly insincere innocence that crossed both Melanie's and Roland's features, the rope Melanie kept half a hand on even as she shoved it deeper in her purse. (Rope was new. Sibyl wondered idly if she intended on running through all the Cluedo weapons.) They at least had the dignity to leave without much of a fuss.

  
Elias returned, shaking his head. "We'll have to do something about that," he muttered, sinking back into his chair with a sigh.

  
"Don't want to turn Jon against us," Sibyl said. "He's protective."

  
"Well, then," Elias said, "better we do it now then, while Jon isn't here, isn't it?" And when he smiled, the muscles in his face belonged to her Elias, but the eyes were all wrong.

  
Sibyl said nothing.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which studies are conducted.

"Bit weird without Martin here," Basira said, fishing the cherry out from the bottom of her glass. "You talk to any of them since they landed?"

  
Melanie shrugged. "Just Jon about that statement. You?"

  
"Martin sent me a picture of their room, here..."

  
Meanwhile, under the table, Amosis murmured, "How did it go?"

  
"Didn't even make it to his office," Roland grumbled, and paused distractedly as Melanie giggled above them. Splitting their attention like this was difficult; as long as Melanie and Basira kept their conversation light and mindless, it was doable, but it was still easy to lose concentration. So far, at least, their suspicions that it would be just as difficult to listen in on seemed to hold true.

  
Amosis nipped at Roland's leg to pull back his attention. "Sorry. He said he was busy, probably spying on the others." Roland snorted, shaking his head. "Didn't see his creepy little bird. Think she can watch us, too?"

  
Amosis was silent for a moment; above them, Melanie began chattering about a new camera she wanted, to cover for Basira's sudden silence as her daemon concentrated. "I think Cecilea compelled us, once," the box turtle finally said, slow and contemplative. "Before we knew about it," he added, catching Roland's disgust. "She's the one who asked about Gertrude's tapes, back then. If she can do that, then we should probably be careful of Sibyl."

  
"Maybe we could pull some files about that Prentiss mess," Roland said. "Maybe Elias is like her."

  
"We don't know much about Prentiss herself," Amosis said. "Just the little bit Jon told us and what we found out investigating Gertrude's body."

  
"Theodora told us she had no daemon," Roland said. "I don't know what she meant."

  
"Couldn't hurt to read up on it," Amosis said. He turned and nudged at Basira's ankle; above them she finally ate the chip that had been halfway to her mouth for nearly a full minute.

* * *

The tenuous peace between Jon and Tim had crumbled faster than Martin would have liked, dissolving instead into Tim making snide, pointed comments and Jon rising all too easily to the bait, and by the time Martin slipped out of the room, the atmosphere had become so thick with bitterness that it was almost a physical relief to shut the door on their arguing.

  
Theodora sighed and relaxed in Martin's arms. "It was nice while it lasted," she said. "It'll be better when we're moving again, right?"

  
"Oh, I'm sure," Martin said, as he wandered in the direction of the lobby, thinking vaguely of browsing through the bookshelves for something to read in front of the fire. "Being cooped up like this is making everyone tense. Once we have a job to do they'll...they'll calm down." (The nice thing about chatting with his daemon was that he didn't have to convince anyone of anything; Theo was just as willing as he was to pretend she believed it.)

  
It had been two days since they'd arrived in Longyearbyen, and there had been no word yet on when or how Elias planned to get them further north. This fact clearly agitated Jon--Cecilea had practically become a statue, stiff and glowering out at the world, feathers splayed out defensively. Martin tried not to let it bother him--being out of the Institute was pleasant, he hadn't had to read a statement since they'd left, and Longyearbyen had enough tourist attractions to fill the time. (After Tim's walk the first night, Jon had given them both sharp warnings not to go "traipsing off into the wilderness," but Martin was more than content to stick to the museums or shops. Tim had gone on three more walks.)

  
"It's quiet," Theo whispered suddenly in his ear, and Martin startled out of this thoughts, glancing around the lobby. Nobody sat in the plush armchairs by the fire, there was no one behind the reception desk, even the chatter from the hallways had become so distant as to be inaudible. "Martin..." Theo's ears stood straight up, quivering and straining to hear any sound, and when the lobby door burst open, both she and Martin jumped.

  
The man who strode into the lobby was the kind of pale that suggested a lifetime of being sequestered in dark rooms, though his features were a handsome kind of haggard more suited to a rugged outdoorsman. For half a moment, Martin thought he was accompanied by one of the _panserbjørne,_ but no--just his daemon, a massive polar bear, casting her gaze imperiously around the lobby before settling on him and baring her teeth.

  
Martin had never felt quite so much like a prey animal in his life.

  
"Ah, there you are!" said the man, as if he were an old friend, striding towards Martin with his arms spread wide. "Which one are you, Tim or Martin?"

  
Martin's mouth worked soundlessly for a moment. "You're--a Lukas?" he squeaked; it came out sounding like more of a question than he meant it.

  
The man's smile grew wider and his daemon made a sound as if she were snickering. "Peter Lukas, at your service. And you are...?"

  
"I--um. Martin."

  
Peter held out his hand; Martin only stared at it, apprehension in the pit of his stomach. "Not gonna bite you, Martin." Martin's eyes flickered up to Peter's face. He winked. Martin blushed furiously and gave his hand a perfunctory shake, jerking back quickly to hold Theo in both hands. She buried her face in the crook of his neck. "Pleasure to meet you!" Peter said. "Now then, why don't you take me to meet your Archivist?"

  
Martin felt as if the floor had dropped out from under him. "Wh-what do you want with Jon?" he managed to stammer.

  
Peter gave him a curious look. "Does Elias really not tell his people _anything?"_ he asked. He exchanged a glance with his daemon before they both turned their eyes back on Martin. "I'm not here for a pleasure cruise. I'm taking you to Ny-Ålesund tomorrow morning."

  
"Oh!" Martin felt a rush of such tangible relief that his legs went weak with it. He wasn't _completely_ at ease--he had read about the Lukases, and that polar bear had very sharp teeth--but knowing Elias had sent Peter took the terrified edge off his nerves. Elias wouldn't have sent anyone who would hurt Jon. "No, I--I didn't know. I can take you to our room, um..." He glanced around the empty lobby. "Will they...be there...?"

  
Peter laughed, a discordantly bright and pleasant and warm sound. "Don't you worry about that. Lead the way, Martin."

  
Martin hesitated; Theo wriggled out of his grasp and peeked over his shoulder. It was a small comfort, but enough of one that Martin felt less disturbed turning his back on Peter and his daemon. As Martin headed back towards the room, Theodora made an awkward attempt at small talk.

  
"Is it difficult to be so large?" she asked, nose twitching. Martin could feel her muscles beneath his palm, tightly wound and ready to spring into action at the slightest provocation.

  
The polar bear chuckled. "Are you uncomfortable with silence, little bunny?" she asked. Her voice was deep and throaty, and it was hard to tell if the lilt in her tone was gentle teasing or outright mockery.

  
"I've just always been small," Theo babbled. "Even when we were younger I never wanted to be too big, you know? I was a tarantula a lot. We--" She cut herself off, quivering slightly. "It just seems harder."

  
"Not for me," said the polar bear, and flashed her teeth again. Theo's claws dug into Martin's shirt.

  
"We're here!" Martin said, more loudly than felt necessary in the silent corridor. "I'll just let them--"

  
Peter breezed past him and Martin yelped, scrambling to get out of the way of his daemon as Peter opened the door without knocking, letting it slam against the far wall. Inside, Martin heard Jon say, "Excuse me, can I _help--"_ and then inhale sharply.

  
"He says Elias sent him!" Martin said, moving back into the doorway. Jon stood pale and trembling at the desk he had been glued to the entire time they'd been there, one arm flung out in front of Tim, who was looking at the back of Jon's head in impressed surprise. Sellig, settled as always around the back of his neck, was staring at Peter. At first, Martin had no idea where Cecilea was; then he glanced up and caught sight of her, perched on an exposed ceiling beam, her eyes bright and fixed on Peter's daemon, who appeared not to have noticed her yet. Her wings were spread as if Martin had only just stopped her from swooping down to gouge out the bear's eyes. Martin shuddered at the thought.

  
"My, Archivist, a bit tense, are we?" Peter said. He glanced around the room, his eyes finally settling on Cecilea, who had relaxed into a more natural position, but whose eyes were still fixed on the polar bear. "I only wanted to say hello."

  
"Elias sent you?" Jon asked sharply.

  
Martin could hear the smirk in Peter's voice as he answered. "He did. I'm here to take you to Ny-Ålesund. He didn't tell you?"

  
Jon let out a slow breath, his expression going from panic to his more usual stern disapproval. "He did _not,"_ he said, irritated. "I'm sure he's _terribly amused_ right now," he added, in a tone which suggested he hoped Elias was listening.

  
"Oh, almost certainly. But perhaps we could introduce ourselves like civilized people? I'm--"

  
"Peter Lukas, I know."

  
"Of course you do. I was being polite. Perhaps you could try it some time?" There was only joviality in Peter's voice, but Martin cringed anyway; when he glanced at the polar bear, she was showing her teeth again.

  
Jon seemed not to notice. "Forgive me if I'm not inclined to politeness towards a man who kicks in people's doors," he said acidly.

  
"Jon--!" Theo squeaked, at the same time Peter's daemon muttered, "Well, that's fair."

  
"What time are you expecting us tomorrow?" Jon asked.

  
"Daybreak." Jon arched an eyebrow and made a sweeping gesture towards the window and the unsetting sun. "Six," Peter corrected. "It's been quite some time since I've been this far north. Back with your predecessor, I believe." He smiled; Jon had gone stiff. "Hopefully our trip will be just as pleasant. I'll see you tomorrow, Archivist." He turned to go and clapped Martin on the shoulder as he passed; Jon made a strangled noise and an abortive motion towards them. "Pleasure meeting you, Martin."

  
And then he was gone, vanished as abruptly as he had arrived, and the faint sounds of human life began to drift down the hallway again. Jon let out a breath and sagged against the desk, squeezing the bridge of his nose. Cecilea swooped down from the ceiling and Jon held out an arm for her to land on without looking.

  
"Were you going to attack him?" Martin demanded, while simultaneously Tim let out a bark of laughter and said, _"Boss,_ that was _amazing."_

  
"Don't encourage that!" Martin said, plopping Theo down on the desk so she could get up on her hind legs and snuffle worriedly at Cecilea. "That was _so_ _dangerous,_ you can't--he could have--"

  
"Oh, please, what could he have done, stuck me in an alternate dimension with no people in it? That would be a blessing at this point," Jon snapped, then sighed heavily. "I'm--sorry. He didn't--I mean--did he...say anything to you?"

  
"No," Martin said. On the desk, Cecilea nipped at Theo's ears, then settled into grooming her until she stopped fussing. Martin felt his heart rate slow. "Just that Elias sent him. And um. He knew our names." He glanced at Tim. "Mine and yours. He asked which one I was."

  
"Lovely," Tim said, though he was apparently so taken with the scene of Jon being rude to a horrible monster that the usual bite in his tone was less than it could have been. "Well, that's certainly a man I trust to take a boat ride with. Take bets on who gets dumped overboard?"

  
"Tim," Jon admonished. "It will be...fine. I'm sure Elias won't have sent someone who's just going to murder us. Just...stick together tomorrow." He collapsed into his desk chair, and Cecilea hopped into his lap, settling in. "Everything will be...just fine."

  
"Sure," Sellig piped up. "And if not, Cecilea can always claw out someone's eyeballs."

* * *

It was colder on the ocean than it had been on land, with a bitter bite to the wind and a terrible miasma hanging over the _Tundra._ Jon stood stiffly at the rail, staring grimly at the waters churning beneath him, Cecilea on his shoulder with her head rotated around to keep an eye on the deck. Martin hovered nearby with Theodora zipped into the front of his jacket, her nose twitching as she scented the arctic air; Tim was leaned artfully against a pole, gazing out at the sea while the wind combed through his hair and Sellig's fur.

  
_Gertrude's assistant had a cute little daemon too,_ Peter's daemon had whispered, standing on her hind legs to be eye level with Cecilea as they boarded. She'd made a noise like a laugh when Cecilea's head had snapped around to face her. _A little lemming. Isn't that something?_

  
Jon could feel Cecilea's talons tightening at the memory, pinpricks of pressure squeezing his shoulder through his coat. His own fingers tightened on the guardrail, frost crunching beneath his gloves. Cecilea tracked Martin's awkward, halting movements towards them, blinking slowly as he offered her a sheepish smile.

  
"Are you cold?" he asked. Jon glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. "You can have my scarf if you want. I mean I've got a hood and you seem--"

  
A slick layer of horror coated the inside of Jon's mouth. _"Martin,"_ he said, more harshly than he meant to. Martin stammered to a halt, looking hurt. Jon swallowed. "I'm fine. Worry about yourself first."

  
"I--I'm sorry," Martin said; Theo's ears drooped. "It's just, you looked cold, and--and I wanted to help."

  
"Help with your scarf on," Cecilea said absently. Her eyes were focused intently on Peter Lukas, crossing the deck towards Tim in lazy strides.

  
Peter leaned against the pole next to Tim, took a pull from a flask, and offered it. Tim only arched an eyebrow at him; the captain shrugged and tucked the flask away. "You enjoying yourself?" he asked. His bear daemon flopped heavily on the deck, huffing out a sigh.

  
Tim glanced over at Jon, who had started towards him, then back to Peter. "I don't imagine you would be as tolerant towards _my_ being rude as you would for the _Archivist,_ would you?"

  
Peter chuckled. "Oh, _absolutely_ not."

  
"In that case, yes."

  
By then Jon and Martin had made it to Tim's side; Cecilea's wings flapped twice before she settled into a predatory hunch, eyes bright and flashing in the grey arctic light.

  
Peter met her gaze and grinned. "You _are_ protective, aren't you?" he mused. He eased lazily back against the pole, making a placating gesture with one hand. "Don't worry, I know better. Just like Elias," he added in a stage whisper to his daemon, who laughed with her eyes still closed as if in a doze.

  
Jon bristled, and he heard Sellig snort. "Like _Elias?"_ the raccoon asked, disbelief coloring his tone.

  
"Well," rumbled the polar bear, "more like Sibyl, I suppose." She slit open one dark eye, appraising first Jon, then Cecilea. "But that amounts to the same thing, _doesn't_ it?" Something in the way she said it tugged at Jon's brain, and he opened his mouth to ask her to elaborate when Peter shoved off the pole and stretched widely, his arms thrusting themselves into Jon's personal space and forcing him to stumble backwards.

  
"Well, enough idle chit chat, eh, Iseult? Back to work with us, getting these fine people to their final destination." Iseult yawned and shook herself as she stood, white fur fluffing in a way that was deceptively cute. Peter gave Jon a mirthless grin. "Your predecessor did so adore it up here," he said. "Said the cold did her good." And off he went, whistling an off-key sea shanty as he did. Jon watched him go, anger and terror warring in his chest.

  
Behind him, Sellig snorted again. "What a weirdo," he muttered. "...Are you okay?"

  
Jon turned to Tim. Cecilea kept her eyes locked on Peter's retreating back. "Fine," he said, his own voice sounding distant and dazed. Sellig looked at him skeptically even as Tim shrugged and turned back to the ocean. Jon sighed and leaned heavily next to Tim; he wanted, desperately, to retreat to an isolated corner and have a moment alone, but he didn't trust any isolated corners that made their home on the _Tundra,_ and so resigned himself to hovering awkwardly around his assistants for the rest of the trip.

* * *

"Aren't you bored?"

  
Basira glanced up from the little nook she had made herself, a pile of books and statement transcripts on her left and a mug of tea on her right, Amosis sat on a pillow she had pilfered from the cot, now that Tim wasn't around to hog it. She had been quite comfortable, even if her reading material was...less than cozy.

  
Daisy was watching her with her head tilted to one side, a mirror of the wolf daemon at her hip.

  
"Nah," Basira said. "Looking for something to read?"

  
Daisy snorted but stalked around to settle in at Basira's side, cautious of Amosis on his pillow. "Nah," she said. Off to the side, Val, massive and ill-tempered by default, made a rumbling noise of pleasure as Amosis pressed his entire face up against her snout, nuzzling into the grey fur there. "Anything good?" Daisy asked.

  
Basira fished a history book out of her pile and began explaining about various witch clans and their shifting alliances. It was fascinating and _probably_ useless information; fond though she was of her, Basira was more than aware that Daisy had all the subtlety of a rocket launcher. It wouldn't do anyone any good to have her wandering around with knowledge of subterfuge in her head. Not yet. So instead Basira regaled her with tales of witches and scholars and wars, while Val and Amosis cuddled at their side. Eventually Daisy would get bored and leave and Basira could go back to reading about what happened to someone's daemon when they became a monster.

  
It wasn't as if she wouldn't enjoy herself in the meantime.

* * *

"Here you are, gentlemen. Safe and sound, as promised." Peter Lukas gave a sweeping bow as they disembarked, first Tim, then Martin, with Jon keeping a watchful eye from the back. "Oh, Archivist--"

  
The second the captain's hand closed around Jon's arm, the entire world fell away into greyness--the _Tundra,_ Tim, Martin...and Cecilea. Jon let out a strangled gasp and struggled out of Peter's grip, whirling around in mounting panic. She had been just above him, stretching her wings as they disembarked, and now--now--

  
"Calm down, you're not _staying,"_ Peter said. Jon turned to face him, and even in his alarm noticed that Iseult was nowhere to be seen. "And if it's your little owl you're worried about, don't. She's right nearby, it won't kill you not to touch her while we...chat."

  
"What--" Jon swallowed thickly. "What do you want."

  
"Well, partly to see how you handled _this."_ Peter gestured. "Not well, turns out. And partly to ask how prepared you are to do what Gertrude did."

  
Jon realized he was panting and fought to control himself. "Gertrude--Gertrude did a lot of things," he managed. "What do you mean?"

  
"You're _protective,_ Archivist," Peter said. He took a step forward; Jon took a step back. "Gertrude wasn't."

  
"No," Jon said. "No, I imagine she wasn't." He let out a slow breath. "I'm going to stop the Unknowing."

  
"Whatever it takes?"

  
"...I'm going to stop it."

  
Peter huffed out an annoyed sound, regarding Jon with a faint frown before breaking out into a rueful grin. "I guess I'll have to wait and hope, then." He clapped Jon on the back and the world snapped back into place around them, the grey dissipating in an instant. The breath was knocked out of Jon's lungs as Cecilea barreled into his arms. "Good luck," Peter said, leaning in close to murmur directly into Jon's ear. "And keep an eye on that bunny of yours. Seems like a real trouble magnet."

  
Jon stumbled his way down towards land, where Tim and Martin were eyeing him with suspicion and terror, respectively. "What was that?" Tim asked, as Martin surged forward to fuss.

  
Jon waved him off. "It's--fine. Nothing. I'm _fine,_ Martin, please?"

  
"Y-yeah," Martin said, shaky. "Uhm. There's...people here..."

  
"People," it turned out, was perhaps underselling it. Jon looked up to see two women regarding them from a little ways off, both dressed in flowing black silk with bows and cloud pine branches strapped to their backs, apparently unconcerned by the cold. Both were tall, beautiful, and of regal bearing, one with a white ptarmigan daemon and one with a grey owl, granted one that was much smaller and rounder than Cecilea.

  
The witch with the owl daemon approached them and nodded her head in a brief bow. "Archivist. My name is Vira, and my sister is Magda. We have been sent to collect you; it is my understanding you are to stay with us while you study here."

  
Without disentangling herself from Jon's arms, Cecilea whipped her head around 180 degrees to stare at the witches; meanwhile, Jon stammered, trying to make some sense of the thousand questions that had all leapt simultaneously into his mind.

  
Tim stepped forward. "A pleasure to meet you," he said, returning Vira's nod. "Sorry about the boss, he's been through a lot. I'm Tim Stoker, and that's Martin Blackwood, and presumably you know Jon."

  
"Elias sent you?" Jon managed; Tim shot him an annoyed look for ruining his attempt at a decent first impression.

  
Vira seemed unbothered. "We have an...arrangement with your people," she said. She gestured. "Come, you must be cold and tired. We can speak inside."

  
Ny-Ålesund lacked some of the touristy warmth of Longyearbyen; a grey air hung about it, in spite of the bright sunlight. Wilderness pressed in closer here, not held off by businesses and a lively town square; here is civilization, here are the wastes, and beyond them the land of witches and _panserbjørne_ and things most humans never had to think about. For the most part its buildings were pragmatic rather than warm or welcoming--research stations and mining outposts--and the little squat house Vira lead them to was no different, a small one-story thing. They would, at least, each get a room of their own. "Get yourselves settled," Vira said. "We have one other guest, a researcher like yourselves, but there is plenty of room."

  
Jon barely looked at the room he picked, only stopping long enough to dump his possessions on the bed before starting back to speak with Vira. "Do you trust them?"

  
He paused with his hand on the doorknob, glancing at Cecilea where she was perched on his shoulder. She was too close to focus on properly, but Jon recognized the judgmental gleam of her eye. "Do you not?" he asked.

  
"Not if they have an _arrangement_ with Elias," Cecilea said. Her feathers ruffled slightly. "And they are _witches--_ if we ask the wrong thing--"

  
"Elias wouldn't let them kill us," Jon protested.

  
"Not kill us, no," Cecilea said, and hopped pointedly onto Jon's wax-scarred hand, still wrapped around the door handle.

  
Jon rolled his eyes. "We'll have to be careful then, won't we?"

  
"Ah good, something we excel at."

  
"Oh, shut up."

  
Vira was waiting for them back in the kitchen, stood watching the doorway with her little owl daemon perched on her bow. Magda was nowhere to be seen. Vira smiled as they entered. "I didn't take you for the type to take long to settle in," she said, and gestured at the kitchen table. "Let us talk, Archivist." She sat and looked up at him expectantly.

  
Jon lowered himself into a chair as if he expected it to blow up. He gave Vira a calculating look when it didn't. "So your...arrangement."

  
"We do not serve the Ceaseless Watcher, exactly. Witches are not...inclined...to such things. Our arrangement with Elias is one of mutual benefit."

  
"So what are you both getting out of it?"

  
"Elias gets a safe place for his most studious Archivist," Vira said, without a trace of irony, though Cecilea bristled. "And we...get to observe you."

  
Jon narrowed his eyes. "I thought you weren't _inclined."_

  
"Not to feed any god," Vira said. "Much simpler than that."

  
Her little owl daemon stared from atop her bow, soft and round with large, luminous eyes. It was easy to forget he was a predator. "And what do you think of us?" Cecilea asked. The witch daemon gave a pleased little hoot.

  
Vira smiled, and it was not so easy to forget _she_ was a predator. "We've only just met, Archivist," she said. "We have plenty of time to get to know each other."


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Melanie makes a breakthrough. Jon does not.

"It'll be nice to have a room to ourselves," Theo said from where Martin had set her down on the bed. She had flopped over, stretching out languidly on top of the blankets, all the tension she had built up while on the _Tundra_ leeching out of her.

  
"Yeah," Martin said. He was unpacking, carefully transferring clothes from his suitcase to the dresser. "Do you think--"

  
He was cut off by a sharp rapping at the door, and Tim entered without waiting for a reply, staring at the phone in his hand. "Hey, are you getting any service up here?" Tim asked, tapping at the screen.

  
Martin blinked. "We're in a dead zone," he said. "Jon told us."

  
"Oh." Tim looked up, frowning. "...Really? Was I there?"

  
"Tim."

  
"All right, sorry, I forgot," Tim muttered. He tucked his phone away in his back pocket. "I wanted to brush up on the Wiki article on witches," he added, almost as an afterthought. He sat down carefully on the bed, avoiding Theo; Sellig hopped off his shoulder and stretched out next to the rabbit, yawning widely. "You know much about them?"

  
"Uhm," Martin said. "Not really, no. I didn't think to grab any books about them, either. I didn't think we'd be...meeting any."

  
Tim drummed his fingers on the mattress. "Well," he said, "Jon's probably grilling them as we speak, so if they don't skewer him, I guess we'll have answers."

  
"Why do you have to--" Martin turned on his heel; on the bed, Theo sprang up from where she had been lounging next to Sellig. "I _know_ you don't like him, you don't have to--to go slipping barbs at him into every conversation we have."

  
"That wasn't a _barb,"_ Tim protested. "Did you _see_ those arrows? Have you _met_ our boss? How kindly do you think a witch is gonna take to whatever freaky Archivist tricks he tries on them?"

  
"He won't..." Theo started, but trailed off. Sellig watched her without sitting up from his sprawl. "Elias won't let them," she said instead.

  
"Sure," Sellig said. "Elias has a great track record on keeping nasty monsters from hurting us." Tim had, apparently unthinkingly, clasped a hand to the back of his neck, scratching at a cluster of worm scars.

  
"Maybe we should go check on him," Martin said.

  
"Do what you want," Tim said, standing and scooping Sellig up and over his shoulder. "I'm taking a nap."

  
Martin sighed but watched him go without protest. He turned to Theo, still bristling. "Well?"

  
"Yeah," she said quickly. "Probably a good idea."

* * *

Jon and Vira _had_ been talking, but they both fell silent as Martin entered the kitchen, four pairs of eyes focusing on him all at once. Theo's ear twitched and she inched closer to Martin's leg. "Um," Martin said intelligently.

  
Vira stood, nodding her head again, in that way that made Martin feel boorish and uncultured. "Are your rooms agreeable?" she asked.

  
"Oh. Um. Yes, they're fine, thank you," Martin said. "Tim's--Tim's getting some rest," he added, finding himself unable to stop as he caught the tenseness around Jon's eyes. "It was a long trip, it might not be a bad idea to try and get some sleep early tonight--oh, and I didn't notice anyone else, you said we had a housemate?" Theo bit at his ankle to shut him up.

  
Vira nodded calmly again. "I believe he's out, at the moment. He has been with us for some time, and keeps odd hours." She offered her hand to her daemon and he hopped into her palm, making himself comfortable. "I'll leave you to rest. Either myself or Magda will be by each day; do let us know if there's anything you need." She turned back to Jon; her expression was unreadable. "We'll talk again soon, Archivist. I hope your stay here is...productive."

  
Jon nodded, frowning, and continued frowning as the witch took her leave. Martin inched closer to the kitchen table, hesitating before taking a seat next to Jon. Theo bounded up onto Martin's lap and then up onto the table to sit next to Cecilea.

"What...what did you talk about?" Martin asked.

  
Jon seemed to come back to himself with a little start, his eyes focusing on Martin. "We, ah...she said she knew Gertrude," he said, sounding as if he were choosing his words very carefully. He reached out and scratched Cecilea's head in an absent, self-soothing kind of way. "I don't know how, she said she never stayed here, but..."

  
Cecilea nipped at Jon's fingers and Martin watched them have an unspoken conversation, eyes locked, Cecilea's head tilting one way then the other, the frown returning to Jon's face. Theo sat up on her hind legs, nose twitching. Eventually Jon let out a quick breath and stood. "You're right, Martin," he said. "Get some rest. Tomorrow will be busy."

  
"Y-yeah. I will." Martin watched Jon leave, Cecilea crouching on his shoulder and whispering something in his ear as they went. When she heard their bedroom door close, Theo stomped on the table. Martin scooped her into his lap, rubbing her ears and leaning his forehead against hers, anxiety roiling in his gut. 

* * *

"It's getting harder to see him." Elias opened his eyes, weariness radiating off his frame. "Could he be learning to hide from us?"

  
Sibyl was seated in Elias' lap, head tucked beneath his jaw, her eyes half-closed. "He is very far from us," she murmured. "In witch territory. There are other factors." _Myself included,_ she thought. The guilt over that fact had not diminished; it was worse now, with Elias' exhaustion shivering across their connection--exhaustion she had helped cause, that she had been _trying_ to cause--but Sibyl's determination steeled her against it. Elias stroked his fingers along her wings, tugging away dead feathers. "Rest if you're tired. I can keep watch. We are not omniscient yet," she added.

  
Elias let out a slow sigh, then nodded. "You're probably right. You're usually right." He smiled at her with an affectionate indulgence that had grown rarer and rarer lately, and Sibyl had to break eye contact. She nuzzled against him, her heart a rock in her chest. "Wake me in an hour. Can't afford more than that."

  
"Of course."

  
Sibyl sat with her head tucked beneath her wing, settled next to Elias until she felt his breathing grow slow and even as he sank into a rare, deep sleep. She indulged as long as she dared, relishing his body heat, the easy beat of his heart, the tiny scraps of humanity he had yet to shed, until Melanie reached the top of the staircase with a can of mace in one hand and a razor blade in the other.

  
Roland would have kicked the door down had Sibyl not opened it just as they came within sight of it. As it was, they crept cautiously over the threshold, razor and horns first. Melanie nearly dropped the razor blade when she saw Elias was asleep; did drop it when she saw Sibyl was awake.

  
Before she could speak, Sibyl glided across the room to land on Roland's back, hissing, "Shh! There's not much time."

  
Roland twisted his neck to glare at her. "We should wring your neck, poultry," he snarled.

  
"Try it," Sibyl snapped. "But I don't know anymore what that would even do to _him."_

  
Melanie, who had been aiming her mace at Sibyl with one hand and scrambling to pick up the razor with the other, paused and stared. "What are you _talking--"_

  
_"Shh!"_

  
Melanie glanced at Elias, still sound asleep on the window seat. She lowered her voice to a whisper. "What are you talking about?" she said. "And why should we believe you?"

  
"I'm awake while he sleeps--"

  
"He could be faking," Roland said. Both he and Melanie turned to stare at Elias, as if the possibility had only just occurred to them.

  
"He isn't," Sibyl said. "I realize you haven't got much reason to trust me, but we don't have time for this."

  
"Convince us, then."

  
Sibyl sighed. "When I first settled," she said, "it was as a ferret." Melanie and Roland stared at her, shock and disbelief and caution writ on their faces. Sibyl could have just dropped the truth into their minds, but she didn't just want their belief--she wanted their trust. "This was...before," Sibyl pressed on. "Before we set foot in the Magnus Institute. Before the Eye had touched us--I think."

  
"You...think?" Melanie said slowly. She had lowered her weapons.

  
"It's...hard to say," Sibyl said. She turned to stare at Elias. "He was-- _we_ were--different, then, and it...it is difficult to remember, sometimes. I remember more than he does, about who we were. Who we truly were."

  
Out of the corner of her eye, Sibyl watched Melanie and Roland inch closer to each other, Melanie's hand sinking into Roland's wool. Across the room, Elias slept, drained and exhausted from her meddling.

  
"So what happened?" Roland asked in a whisper.

  
"This place happened," Sibyl said, not without bitterness. "The _Beholding_ happened. We...we sought it out. I cannot lie about that. We felt its gaze and we were drawn to it, and it...changed us. But..."

  
She turned back to her audience. The disbelief had shifted into stark horror. And pity. The pity should have bothered her, but it was better than hatred and mace, so Sibyl took what she could get. Besides--perhaps she _was_ pitiful. "He was mine before he was the Eye's," Sibyl said, and was taken aback by the plaintive note in her voice. "It--it pulls things apart to see how they work. It overwrote us. I will not hurt Elias but I want to stop the _Eye."_

  
"And you think...that we stand a chance of doing that," Melanie said. She sounded doubtful.

  
"Maybe." On the window seat, Elias shifted, and the room held its breath until he settled. Even more quietly than before, Sibyl continued, "What you and Basira have been doing is...clever. I can try to shield you as much as I can, but you must be cautious. And...for now...you can trust the Archivist."

  
"For now," Roland repeated.

  
Sibyl shifted. "Yes. Jon is--he's stubborn. He and Cecilea won't...won't do what we've done, not easily. Not...yet. Just keep in mind that he is...he is a very good Archivist."

  
"Right." Melanie weighed the razor in her hand, looking from Sibyl to Elias' sleeping form.

  
"Melanie," Sibyl said, following her gaze, "I could hurt you _very_ badly." They locked eyes. "Don't make me."

  
For a moment Sibyl wasn't sure what Melanie intended to do, and it was a disorienting feeling, the uncertainty--but Melanie let out a faint huff and tucked the razor away. "Right," she said again. "How long have I got to fill in Basira?"

  
"Let's say half an hour, to be safe." Sibyl stretched her wings. "Now go. And don't do anything reckless. Elias has less patience for your...murderous inclinations...than I do." She took off across the room, landing lightly at Elias' side and tucking herself in against him.

  
_Lock the door when you go._

  
She dropped the thought into Melanie's brain, just to prove she could, and took more pleasure in watching Melanie jolt than perhaps was kind. She watched Melanie and Roland leave (locking the door behind them), and rested her head against Elias' chest, counting the beats of his heart.

* * *

The Wikipedia article for Jonah Magnus listed his daemon as Abigail, settled as a barn owl. "I was expecting a swan," Melanie said, staring at the stern portrait of Magnus at the top of the page. "Though I guess it explains the logo."

  
Basira pulled away to lean back in her chair, eyes closed in thought. "A ferret, you said?" she asked.

  
"Huh? Oh. Yeah."

  
"There must be...something left over," Amosis said after a while. Then, after a pause: "I guess a swan is kind of the midway point between an owl and a ferret?"

  
Roland snorted, shaking his head. "Doesn't matter. She wants to help us put an end to this creepy nonsense, she could be a sea slug for all I care."

  
Basira glanced at her watch. "Five minutes," she said. "Anything you want to say before it's all subterfuge again?"

  
"Nah." Melanie tucked her phone away, stretched until her spine popped loudly, and grinned. "I've kind of been enjoying the subterfuge, to be honest. I think I like it even more knowing we've got eyes on the inside."

  
"Just don't let it get to your head."


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim and Martin make friends.

It was late when Tim woke up; he'd finally stopped relying on looking out of windows to tell the time, instead glancing at his watch in the artificial dark of his room. 3:22 AM; feasibly he could go back to sleep until morning, but realistically he'd been waking up around now back home, anyway, skulking around his apartment in the dark after spending his afternoons depression napping. He rolled out of bed, taking the blankets with him, then tugged a sweatshirt over his head and wandered into the kitchen with Sellig curled up in the hood.

"People must save a ton on electricity here," Tim muttered as he poked through the cabinets, the sun streaming through the windows.

"Make up for it in the winter," Sellig replied in a sleepy mumble. He burrowed deeper into his makeshift nest to keep the light out of his eyes. "It's late and cold and Jon's gonna make us _do stuff_ tomorrow, let's--"

He was cut off when the front door opened loudly, and Tim casually scooped up a streak knife from the block on the counter. He peered out into the front hall and saw a man bundled up in cold-weather gear, unclasping a quiver from around his waist to put it into the coat closet alongside a bow. He had no daemon, and Tim shifted his grip on the knife from "I-just-happen-to-have-this-but-I'm-non-threatening" to "I-will-shank-you."

"You a witch or something?" he called, trying to look intimidating and only belatedly remembering he was swaddled in a quilt.

The man looked up in surprise, his entire stature shifting from a casual laziness to something more alert and nervous when his eyes landed on Tim. "Oh--uh." He waffled for a moment, then held up a little silver box at the end of a chain around his neck--the kind of thing people bought to keep insect daemons safe. "Maxa's shy," he said, quirking one shoulder in something like apology.

Tim relaxed. "Oh," he said, feeling sheepish. "Right, no, I uh...it's just been a little weird, lately, sorry."

"It's fine. You're with the people Vira told me about? Researchers or something?"

Tim shrugged. "That's us."

Something about the man in front of him seemed...strange. Not threatening, but--bland. Tim couldn't even trace his accent beyond "probably not Norwegian." And Tim had worked at the goddamned Magnus Institute long enough not to trust _bland._ Especially when the man didn't offer his name and didn't let his daemon out of her box now that they were out of the cold.

_Whatever,_ Tim thought, and wandered back into the kitchen. _I can be bland, too. **And** rude, so there._ He made himself a cup of coffee and trudged back to his room, sitting curled up in a nest of blankets and pillows on his bed, Sellig sprawled in a sleepy stretch across his lap. "That guy was weird, right?" Tim asked, staring into his coffee mug.

"Bugs are weird," Sellig responded. "Probably a butterfly or something. Flighty and weird."

"Butterflies seem too eye-catching."

"A moth, then."

Tim clicked his nails against the mug. "Yeah," he said. "You're probably right."

Across the hall, they could hear the man slipping into his room--silently, without even the most indistinct of murmurs to his daemon. Tim arched an eyebrow at Sellig; Sellig met his gaze, then coiled himself into a tight little ball, tucking his tail up around his nose. "Who do we know who _isn't_ weird?" the raccoon mumbled. "...we'll keep an eye on him," he finally added, a touch of his grumpiness leaving his tone.

"Yeah." Tim settled himself more comfortably against the wall, sipping his coffee. "Yeah."

* * *

The kitchen table was hidden beneath a pile of statements and research materials when Magda entered. She stood in the doorway, her gaze and her daemon's sweeping the room, her face dignified and impassive. "I am here," she said, without waiting for someone to acknowledge her, "to accompany you on your research."

Martin was the first to glance up; he started and nudged Jon hard in the ribs.

_"Ow,_ Martin, what was thaaaaa--aah, Miss--uh."

"Just Magda is fine."

"Magda. I'm sorry, I didn't notice--you intend to join us...?"

Magda gestured to her bow. "You will need protection if you intend to go out. There are...dangers, in the snow and ice." She arched one eyebrow. "Unless you can fire a gun?"

"...No," Jon said, frowning at her weapon. He exchanged a brief glance with Cecilea. "We were planning on visiting the Optic Solutions facility today."

Magda's daemon fluffed up his feathers. "You will definitely require protection," he said.

"Why?" Cecilea asked immediately. "Do you know anything about--"

_"Enough."_ Magda's mouth had curled into an expression of distaste; her daemon had spread his wings in warning. "Be more courteous, Archivist. We are not all as receptive to your questions as Vira might be."

"O-oh. Yes, of course." Cecilea looked properly daunted, shuffling backwards to half hide behind Jon's head. "My apologies, I...I wasn't thinking."

"Clearly." The ptarmigan settled back down, glowering from his perch on Magda's shoulder. "Optic Solutions is under the sway of the Dark. They will not be receptive to an Archivist. Or to a witch."

"So do you--ah--you're suggesting we shouldn't go, then," Jon said, catching himself before framing it as a question.

Magda tilted her head at him, her expression unreadable. "It isn't necessary," she said.

(On either side of the room, Tim and Martin snapped their eyes from Magda to Jon, like they were watching a tennis game. Jon tried to ignore their staring.)

"Why--I mean...what makes you say--urgh." He ran a hand through his hair, staring up at the ceiling as he cast about for words. Magda watched him, her mouth twitching in the slightest hint of amusement.

"All our research points to it being important," Cecilea finally said; Jon rolled his head on his neck to glance at her.

Magda inclined her head slightly. "It isn't," she said, and there was a strain of humor in her voice, now. "Well--perhaps important, but not to your ends, not right now."

"I would appreciate it greatly," Jon said stiffly, still staring at the ceiling, "if you would stop speaking in riddles."

"I'm sure you would," said Magda. She paused, tapping her fingertips against her lips, then said slowly, "The Dark is not...working against you. I doubt they will help you, either, however."

"But what does that _mean?"_ Jon snapped, and his teeth clicked audibly as he snapped his mouth shut.

The temperature in the kitchen seemed to drop slightly; Magda drew herself up. "Exactly what I _said,_ Archivist."

A tiny cough from the corner drew both of their attention; Martin had inched forward, twisting his hands together, Theo standing on her hind legs, peering out from behind his knees. "Uhm, not to--interrupt," he said. "But um...if they won't talk to an Archivist, maybe I could go alone?"

"Martin--"

"I mean, or I could go with Tim, if you're worried about us going alone," Martin pressed on over Jon's protests. "It's...what we're here for, isn't it?"

As Jon stared at Martin, Cecilea's head swiveled around, her eyes boring into Magda. "How dangerous would it be for them?" she demanded; on the ground, Theo winced.

"Less so than for you," Magda said, though she glowered at the compulsion. "Not safe, but--safer."

"I'll do it," Martin said. "It will be fine, Jon. Just like old times."

Jon made a helpless, irritated noise. "And...what am I to do, then?" he asked. "Sit around and wait--"

"I'll send for Vira," Magda said. She lifted her hand, and her daemon splayed his wings and flew through the suddenly open window. Jon felt his stomach drop, watching the bird vanish into the distance. It was one thing to know about a witch's range, another to see it in action, dizzying and unnatural. Magda seemed unruffled. "That way you can explore on your own. Now, who is coming with me?"

* * *

In the end, Martin did go alone, though they set up the transistor radio so he could get in touch with Tim, who was staying behind to pore over statements. Magda flew them to their destination--Martin clung to her, half in terror and half in exhilaration, with Theo burrowed deep in his jacket, clinging to his sweater for dear life. It was almost enough to make Martin forget that the witch's daemon was nowhere in sight. Almost.

They landed across from a squat industrial building, OPTIC SOLUTIONS written in stark block lettering on the door. Magda arched an eyebrow at him as Theo squirmed her way back into open air. "I'll be waiting for you," she said simply.

Inside was brightly lit, but not in a particularly welcoming way; everything was just as stark and white as the snowy wastes outside. There was a woman sitting at a desk, staring blankly at him; her daemon was some kind of dog, and his eyes were milky white. Martin tried not to stare as he approached.

"Do you have an appointment?" the woman asked.

"Uhm...no, I--"

"If you'd like to make an appointment, you can do so--"

"No, look, I just wanted to ask about the Daedalus Space Station--?"

The woman's expression changed; there was a low growl, and Martin glanced down to see her daemon had risen to his feet and was snarling at him. He took a step backwards. "Why?" the woman asked, her voice no longer clipped and professional but darker, more dangerous. Theo dove back into the safety of Martin's jacket and stayed there, shaking under his palms.

"I'm--I'm doing research for the Norwegian Polar Institute," Martin stammered. He had practiced the lie before leaving--it was always good to have a lie ready to go in case someone found the Magnus Institute distasteful. He hoped the stuttering and Theo's terror could be explained away by the snarling hound daemon and not taken as a sign of dishonesty. "Atmospheric sciences and--I was just wondering if you had anything that might be useful..."

The dog snorted, sounding derisive, but laid down again as the woman's anger left her features. "Ah. I see. Well, if you want to speak with someone in person, you'll need an appointment."

"Uhm. Could I set up an appointment?" Martin asked. Theo peeked just her nose out of his jacket.

"We generally require at _least_ a month's notice," the woman said. She gave him a saccharine smile when his eyes widened.

"I don't, um...I didn't realize you were so busy," Martin said faintly. Theo tucked her nose back into his coat and made a despairing groaning noise; Martin felt it vibrating against his chest more than he heard it. "Would it be possible to...do you do tours?" he asked, in a sudden stroke of inspiration. "Would it be possible to do something like that sooner?"

The woman stared at him, her lips soundlessly shaping out the word "tour" before she shook herself back into a semblance of professionalism. "Not...usually," she said. Then she tilted her head at him and smiled, showing off more of her teeth than Martin would usually find comfortable. "But why don't you take a seat and I'll go ask a few questions? Maybe pull some strings for you." She dropped him a completely unconvincing wink and slipped away with her daemon padding after her.

Theo popped back out of the jacket. "That was _miserable,_ there is not a _chance_ she believed us. We should leave now while she's gone."

"No," Martin said. "I told Jon we could handle this. And besides, Magda knows where we are, so, if something happens she can come rescue us, right?" Theo stared at him. "We're doing it, so stop looking at me like that," Martin grumbled, and stuffed her back into his jacket.

* * *

It was a relief when Vira arrived, flanked by her daemon and Magda's. Jon and Cecilea had been hunched against the wall by the radio, staring at it as if it would crackle to life at any moment and begin broadcasting Martin's grisly demise, and Tim had given up on his half-hearted attempts at distracting him. He was flipping through a statement about a ventriloquist dummy (and wondering if Martin had vetted the statements before packing them) when Vira knocked on the doorframe.

"Archivist," she said, and Tim felt the usual twinge of irritation at the title. Sellig's fur bristled, his lip curling to just bare his teeth, but neither of them quite dared to do more than that, not in front of a witch. Certainly not in her direction. "I have something that might interest you, if you care to come with me. You'll want to bundle up."

"I--yes, of course," Jon said, and vanished into his room to get his coat.

Vira's daemon glided over to the table and landed by Tim's wrist; Tim started and pulled back, nervous of how close the little owl had come to touching him. "You're studying the Circus?" the owl said, regarding the spread of statements the way a natural owl might regard a mouse.

"Um...yeah," Sellig said. "Well, all of it, really, but--"

"Did you know there were witches who served the Circus?" the owl asked abruptly.

Sellig stared. "No," he said. He stood on his hind legs to read the statement Tim was holding, then bounded across the table to cross-check something. "How...how can you tell the difference between witch magic and everything else the Circus does?"

"Well, it's obvious to us," said Magda's daemon, and Tim jumped as he realized the ptarmigan had landed on the back of his chair. He glanced over at Vira for help, and she gave him a serene smile. Tim altered his posture so he was leaning away from the two daemons, feeling uncomfortably crowded.

"I--" he started, and was interrupted when Jon entered again, testing whether he could work the buttons on his tape recorder while wearing gloves. By the time he looked up, both of the witch daemons had backed off, and Tim was left baffled and alarmed and bent at an odd angle. He exchanged a look with Sellig.

"You'll be all right here?" Jon was asking, and Tim nodded vacantly.

"Y-yeah. Use the radio if you need me and...be careful."

Jon seemed briefly surprised by Tim's concern, then even more briefly touched, before he schooled his features back into cool neutrality. "Right. We'll be back soon. Good luck."

Tim watched them go; Vira's daemon had swiveled his head around backwards to keep an eye on Tim until they vanished around the corner. Tim had half expected one of the witch daemons to stay, but he was left alone and staring at his pile of statements. "Really wish we had that Wiki article," Sellig said after a moment. Tim laughed, and there was no joy in it.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things begin to go wrong.

"I hope she's decided she likes us," Cecilea muttered as Jon awkwardly clambered onto the back of Vira's staff of cloud pine.

"You'll want to hold on," Vira said, and suddenly they were much higher up than seemed necessary. Cecilea leapt from Jon's shoulder as he clung to Vira, and they were off, the two owl daemons keeping pace alongside them as the witch sped off towards the north.

"Wh-where are we going?" Jon managed, though only just; with the wind rushing around them it was hard to speak. He thought of Mike Crew, and felt a renewed rush of hope that Vira liked him enough not to drop him.

"There is something you need to see," Vira said, with a finality that suggested Jon should hold any further questions until after the demonstration.

Jon wasn't sure how long they flew. Cecilea's excitement over getting to stretch her wings kept the misery of the cold at bay, though Jon was still going stiff and numb when he finally felt Vira shift her arm to point out something beneath them. "Look. That is where I am taking you."

Jon looked and felt his stomach plummet in a way that had little to do with the dizzying height. There was a stretch of land splayed out ahead of them--a withered, blackened thing, blighted and dead. "What..."

"It is a very long story, Archivist," Vira said. "Wait until we land."

It was, somehow, even worse up close. There was a _smell_ to it, just beneath the scent of cold air, something Jon couldn't quite put his finger on. Cecilea clung to his shoulder. "I don't like this," she whispered, staring at the ruined earth. Jon knelt, tugging off his glove to feel the dirt; it crumbled like ancient bone beneath his fingertips, seeming to suck the moisture from his skin. He hastily brushed his hand off before replacing the glove.

"I wouldn't go any further, if I were you," Vira said. Jon turned to regard her; the witch leaned almost casually on her cloud pine, her daemon hopping from her shoulder to her staff to her bow and back, more agitated than Jon had ever seen him.

"What _happened,"_ Jon asked, breathless with horror and curiosity.

Vira smiled. It was not a pleasant expression. "Thousands of years ago," she said, "there was a terrible cataclysm that was just barely averted in time. The End had come to do its work in the ice and the cold, to rend asunder the boundaries of life and death and what lurks between. But, at the last moment, it was stopped. Turned back. All that remained was its ritual site, a desecrated scar on the land where nothing would ever live again, with its Sepulcher in the center."

"This," Jon said, gesturing behind him. Cecilea had gone motionless on his shoulder.

"This," Vira agreed with a slight incline of her head. "I was not there. I had not been born, yet. I cannot tell you more than the myths about what happened the day Death Undying was averted."

Jon let out a slow, shaking breath. "Can I see the Sepulcher?" he asked.

_"Jon--"_ Cecilea hissed.

Vira laughed, low and humorless. "You don't want to do that," she said. She let go of her cloud pine staff and it stood without support as she walked towards the stretch of blight. Her daemon stayed behind, watching her with bright eyes. The earth crunched beneath her feet as she took a few steps onto the decaying dirt. "Do you know why witches and their daemons can be as far apart as they please?" Vira asked. She took a pointed step away from where her daemon sat on her staff.

Jon licked his lips. "A--a ritual, I've heard. I don't...I don't know the details." On his shoulder, Cecilea shifted from foot to foot, her feathers bristling defensively.

Vira nodded. "Yes. A ritual. We wander out into a place where our daemons cannot follow, a soulless place. A _dead_ place."

"Jon..." Cecilea groaned softly, as if she were in pain. Jon reached up to pet her and instead she buried her face in his palm, hiding her eyes.

"Here."

Cecilea let out a noise that Jon hadn't heard her make since they were young, a high-pitched, despairing sound, all terror and anguish. She pushed her head against his hand as if she were trying to crawl inside it. Jon could feel her nausea roiling in his own stomach and took a shaky breath. "Why are you showing me this?" he asked.

Vira turned to face him. "My clan," she said slowly, "has passed down legends of these rituals you seek to stop. It isn't enough to simply swarm the enemy with magic and arrows. There is...an _art_ to it."

"And...are you going to tell me what the art _is?"_ Jon asked, irritation creeping into his tone despite himself.

"Antithesis."

"What?" Jon found himself somewhat taken aback that Vira had actually answered him. Cecilea had calmed somewhat, lifting her head to stare at Vira, though she climbed onto Jon's wrist and urged him to hold her close to his chest.

"Gertrude stopped the Spiral with a map and an identity," Vira said. "The legend says the End was stopped with life, though I will admit, the details on that point are...vague. Brute force might help you on your way, but there is deep magic being woven against you as we speak. It isn't enough to simply stop the weaving, Archivist--it must be _unraveled."_

Jon stared, his fingers going still on Cecilea's back. A thousand questions swirled in his mind, but it was Cecilea who spoke up first: "Why are you telling us this?"

"The witch clans have our own agendas to pursue," Vira said. "These rituals run counter to them. And...I feel I owe you."

"Owe me?"

Vira smiled, wandering over to her cloud pine to scoop up her daemon. "For my daughter."

For a second, Jon stared, uncomprehending--then Cecilea let out a startled shriek as the knowledge hit them both like a train. "You--your-- _Jane Prentiss_ was your--"

Vira Prentiss let out a humorless laugh. "Yes. And thank you, for...freeing her." She deposited her daemon onto her shoulder and pulled her cloud pine up from the earth. "Come. You'll want to get back, I'm sure."

* * *

Amosis had retreated into his shell by the time the recording of Jane Prentiss' statement ended. Basira rested a hand on his back, frowning and tapping her pen against a stack of papers. The statement itself had been unnerving enough, but listening to how shaken it had made Jon had made it worse, somehow. Jane Prentiss had still had her daemon when she'd made her statement--the wasp's nest had frightened him, she had said. Frightened and enthralled him, like it frightened and enthralled her. And, as Jon had pointed out, she had walked out of the hospital cradling her limp and infested daemon in her arms. It was only several months later that sightings of her stopped mentioning the polecat.

"You can come out, you know," Basira said, lifting Amosis into her lap and splaying her palm out flat against his shell. "Nothing's gonna get you."

Amosis poked his head out. "It's just so _awful,"_ he said mournfully. "Basira--"

"Hey." Basira ran a fingertip along the underside of her daemon's jaw. "No worms here."

"There are other things than worms."

"I'm not gonna let anything get you."

Amosis rested the whole weight of his head on Basira's fingers. "How long..." he trailed off, but Basira was thinking it too: _How long does Sibyl have the way she is?_ It only took months for Prentiss' daemon to vanish--eaten or replaced or just subsumed completely by the Hive, Basira couldn't be sure. And sure, Elias didn't have worms squiggling through his skin, but he was certainly at least as entrenched with the Eye as Prentiss had been with the Hive.

Basira sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. She needed to do more research. She needed to talk to Melanie. She needed a drink with a goddamn inadvisable amount of rum in it. "Ready for lunch?" she asked, and scooped Amosis up under her arm to go find Melanie.

* * *

"Am I interrupting something?"

Tim glanced up, faintly dazed, from the statement he had been reading. The man from the night before was standing in the doorway, eyes sweeping the papers strewn about the kitchen. Tim waved a nonchalant hand, eyes drifting back to his statement. "No. Just uh...don't touch anything."

For a brief moment they coexisted peaceably, with the man rummaging through the cabinets for a mug and Tim flipping through a stack of files. Tim had nearly forgotten he was there when Sellig climbed up his arm, curled around his neck, and whispered urgently in his ear. Tim's hands froze over his files, his eyes flicking towards the man currently reading the back of a box of tea bags.

The man glanced up as if he felt the weight of Tim's gaze. "Something wrong?" he asked; he made a good show of nonchalance, but his stance shifted into something defensive.

"...Your daemon," Tim started.

The man put the box down. "I told you, Maxa is--" His hand went to his neck, and to his credit, his expression remained calm and collected as he discovered the chain he expected to find there was absent. "Ah," he said, "fuck."

* * *

Rooting through Jon's office while he was out was a bizarre experience. Melanie was more than used to sticking her nose places it might not be wanted--she may or may not have seriously considered making Roland little woolen caps to slip over his hooves to stop them clicking on ancient linoleum floors--and she was mostly sure that Jon would be willing to help her find what she was looking for, if he knew she were looking, if he thought it would fuck over Elias. No, she wasn't worried about _Jon_ discovering her.

"She said she'd help," Roland said softly, nudging at the back of Melanie's legs. She reached down to scratch his ears, the motion automatic. "Let's be quick."

Melanie nodded briskly. "Right." She shut the door firmly behind her and took a long look around the room. "Right. Now, if I were a nosy, paranoid menace, where would I hide all my juicy research...?"

The desk seemed more likely than the filing cabinets, at least, so Melanie started there. She rifled briefly through the piles of paper on top of the desk first--not really expecting much, but just to make sure Jon didn't have something labeled "How To Defeat Your Evil Boss" sitting under his nose. It never hurt to double check. Then she moved onto the drawers, starting from the top and working her way down. She was kneeling on the floor and flipping through a pile of photographs with mounting frustration when Roland let out a huff.

"What the _hell_ kind of filing system is he _using?"_ he hissed. "Why aren't the photographs in the folders with their statements? Does he even know what he's _doing?"_ He punctuated this last remark by cracking a hoof against the floor; something underneath him shifted, just slightly, and they both turned to look. One of the floorboards had come loose, jostled just enough to pop out of place. For a moment they just stared.

"Well," Melanie said finally. "Let's take a peek, shall we?"

It wasn't a lot. A few amateurish pictures of buildings, the occasional scribbled note, some stacks of tapes. "Martin said he took pictures outside their windows, right?" Roland muttered. "I mean...this has to be it."

"I don't care about their flats, I care about whatever he dug up on Elias," Melanie whispered back. She wasn't sure why they were whispering. Either Sibyl was hiding them or she wasn't. "Grab my bag, we'll just take the whole thing."

* * *

Something felt off even before they had landed; there was a strange tension hanging in the air, something that set off a low thrum of anxiety in Jon's stomach. They landed outside the house and Jon was through the door instantly, calling a thank you over his shoulder; Cecilea just barely caught sight of Magda's daemon landing on Vira's staff before the door shut behind them.

Tim's voice was coming from the kitchen. "...know who the _fuck_ you are!" he was saying, and Jon skidded around the corner to see him glaring at a man across from him. Tim had one hand clenched around the chair he had presumably gotten up from as if he might try to use it as a weapon if he had to; Sellig was coiled around his shoulders, hissing, all his fur standing on end. The other man had his hands up in a placating gesture, his expression difficult to read, possibly nervous or annoyed, and Jon looked automatically for his daemon to provide a clue, only to suck in a breath through his teeth as he realized the man _didn't have one._

Tim glanced over his shoulder at Jon, though his eyes kept flicking back to the man across from him. "Jon, this creep has been following us--"

"I'm not trying to hurt--"

"Shut up!" Tim snapped, an edge of hysteria to his voice. "You were watching us in Longyearbyen, I _saw_ your daemon--"

"I--okay, yes, I was, but I promise, I'm _not_ your enemy!" The man looked desperately at Jon; there was something almost familiar about him, nagging at the back of Jon's head. "You have to believe me, I--"

"Who sent you?" Sellig demanded. "It doesn't make sense for it to be Elias, he could just watch us on his own like the creep he is, so who _did?"_

"Nobody!" the man protested. "I--I'm not working for anyone, I'm just trying to help."

"If you told us who you are," Jon said, frowning, trying to figure out what about the man was making him feel as if he should remember him, "that would go a long way towards getting us to trust you."

"I...can't," the man said, sounding pained.

"Why. Not," Tim demanded; his hand tightened on his chair. His knuckles had gone white.

"Something might be _listening,"_ the man said. "Look I can't prove anything--"

"--how convenient--"

Jon closed his eyes, the beginnings of a headache pulsing at his temples. He knew who this man was, he was certain of it--someone from a statement, maybe, or someone close to the Institute somehow. It was there, the knowledge of it dancing just out of reach of his memory, and if Tim and Gerard would just stop _arguing--_

Wait.

"Tim," Jon said wearily. "Tim, stop. It's all right. I know who he is."

"What?" Tim and Gerard said in unison.

Now that Jon was aware of who he was looking at, it seemed impossible that he could have missed it--the tattoos alone should have given him away--but even as he looked the name slipped precariously along the edges of his mind, like he was on the verge of losing it like dreams are lost after waking up. He fixed his gaze on Gerard's face and mustered as much of the Archivist as he could. "Can we trust you?"

Gerard rocked back on his heels, looking briefly stunned. _"Yes,"_ he said, immediately and emphatically. Then: "God, they weren't wrong about you. That was...intense."

Jon nodded, tersely, suddenly finding eye contact with Gerard completely unbearable and staring instead at a spot on the floor. "So I've been told. I imagine it's Elias you're hiding from?"

"Yeah." Out of the corner of his eye, Jon watched Gerard lean back against a counter, one hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose. "I--I was going to tell you. Eventually. I wanted to know it was safe."

_"Safe?"_ Tim said, sounding faintly breathless. Jon glanced over at him; he had gone vaguely wild-eyed, clutching Sellig to his chest. "I still don't know _who you are._ You were _spying_ on me! _You_ wanted to know it was safe?"

"Tim--" Cecilea began, and Tim rounded on her, eyes blazing.

"No, _fuck you,_ you can't just declare that we can trust him because your _freaky monster powers_ said so, how do you know you aren't _wrong?_ How do you know he isn't--isn't fucking with your head? Maybe Elias _did_ send him so you'd have someone to _trust."_

"But he--"

"He what? He's the _good_ kind of voyeur? And who the hell is _they_ anyway, who told you about Jon?"

Gerard opened his mouth and was cut off by a sudden shriek of feedback from the radio. They all jumped, turning to face it as the whine of static rose to an agonizing pitch before abruptly cutting off; for a moment, there was dead silence. Then, very quietly, Martin's voice came through, sounding distant and tinny. "C-can anyone hear me? Tim? Please answer, it's so dark--"

Then nothing.

Jon felt faint, his world narrowing to just the radio and to Cecilea's talons sinking into his shoulder tight enough to draw blood through his sweater. He was vaguely aware of movement, then he was being shaken back to reality. "Archivist!" Gerard was staring into his eyes, his grip on Jon's elbows bruisingly tight. "Did you send him there? To the Darkness?"

"Yes," he said; his voice sounded faraway and detached to his own ears. "I--" And then he realized what Gerard had meant, and he snapped back to himself. "Not for _that,"_ he snarled, jerking away from him. Cecilea let out a screech, her wings splaying defensively; Gerard backed away quickly, hands held up placatingly.

"I'm sorry, I--I knew Gertrude, I...I'm sorry."

"Martin? Martin! Say something!" Tim had thrown himself into the chair by the radio; nothing answered him, not even more static. "Boss--" There was terror in his eyes as he looked up, and the helpless pit in Jon's stomach only deepened. The front door burst open, Vira calling out his name, and Jon turned just as she entered the kitchen.

"Archivist, your assistant--"

"We know. Could you fly me to him?"

"I'm coming with--" Tim started.

"No," Jon said. "That's what got Martin into this mess in the first place. I'm going alone." He nodded towards Gerard. "Help him hide the house. We need to talk when I get back. Vira?"

"I'll send Magda to help you," Vira said to Gerard, then ushered Jon out the front door for the second time that day.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A rescue, and difficult conversations. Some more difficult than others.

They didn't quite kick the doors in, and something about "the Archivist and a witch walk into a stronghold of the eldritch cult of Darkness" sounded like an absurdist joke in Jon's head, but the woman at the front desk leapt to her feet when they entered.

  
"Who do you think--" she started, and then Vira's daemon dove at her dog daemon, talons sinking into his neck, and the woman gave a choked-off scream and collapsed into her chair.

  
_"Where is Martin Blackwood?"_ Jon demanded, speaking loudly so he could be heard over the woman's ragged breathing and her daemon's frantic yelps.

  
"I--I don't know who that is!" the woman gasped.

  
Cecilea shrieked. "The man with the rabbit daemon!" she snapped. "He was here earlier today! Where is he?"

  
"I--I took him to the storage facility out back," the woman said through clenched teeth. "We had a _deal,_ dammit, you aren't supposed to be snooping-- _Keva--"_

  
"Let her go," Jon said softly. "Stay here to make sure she doesn't do anything...rash. I'm going to get Martin."

  
Vira nodded; her daemon flew back to her shoulder and the woman and her daemon launched themselves at each other, slumping to the floor in a tangle. "Take this," Vira said, and snapped a twig from the end of her cloud pine staff. "To light your path."

  
Cecilea took it tenderly in her beak and they slipped back outside. It wasn't hard to find the storage facility. It was bigger than the main building, windowless and radiating menace--possibly that last part was only in his head, but something about the place felt _off,_ despite looking largely unremarkable.

  
Jon kept the door open as he entered, but it made little difference. The darkness swallowed them both, an almost physical presence, a pressure on his eardrums and up against his nostrils and oozing into his lungs as he breathed. For a moment he faltered, taking a few halting steps backwards in an attempt to break into sunlight and air and reality, but the door was gone. Somehow this only steeled his resolve, rather than sending him into a blind panic; he took a deep breath of uncomfortably thick and humid air, and walked forward into the inky black, his hands clenching into fists at his sides.

  
"Martin?" His voice did not echo the way it should have in a warehouse. It fell flatly at his feet. Cecilea pecked his ear, a low hoot vibrating in her chest. The twig Vira had given them caught briefly in his hair, and Jon walked his hand up Cecilea's feathers until he found her beak, plucking the twig from her. "How do you think we use it?" he whispered, and gave it an experimental swish. Nothing happened. "Can you see in here?"

  
"No." Cecilea's voice was clipped, an almost imperceptible edge of nerves to it. Jon smoothed a hand down her side. "Let's just find them and get out."

  
They inched through the no-longer-a-warehouse, Jon's hand held out in front of him; Cecilea called out every few feet, but there was no answer.

  
After a while, Jon paused, holding the twig up to Cecilea. "Hold this a minute," he said, and stripped off his gloves and scarf, shoving them into his coat pocket.

  
"You're hot?" Cecilea asked when he took the twig back.

  
"Dying."

  
"It's an unheated warehouse in the arctic. You shouldn't be."

  
Jon opened his mouth to answer, but instead fell silent, his head tilted to one side, his eyes open wide and straining in the dark. He heard crying--just tiny, muffled noises, like someone trying not to be too loud, and it was difficult to pinpoint where they were coming from, but it was the first sign of Martin since they'd slipped into the darkness. "Martin?" The sobbing stopped with a hitch. Jon inched forward towards where he thought it had been coming. "Martin! Keep making noise, we're coming to get you."

  
"N-no! Go away!"

  
"He could have just stopped talking," Cecilea muttered. Then, louder, "We can't find the door anyway! We'll leave together!"

  
They crept forward, inch by agonizing inch, calling out as they went, but Martin had stopped responding. (Whether because he had heard Cecilea or because he had figured it out on his own, Jon wasn't sure.)

  
Jon had started flicking Vira's twig back and forth in a desperate attempt to get it to light up when he tripped over something curled up on the floor. He just managed to stop himself from crashing to the ground; Cecilea screeched and fluttered briefly off his shoulder; the thing he tripped over let out a muffled cry of pain. "Martin!" Jon went to his knees carefully, reaching out but pulling back at the last second for fear of accidentally touching Theo in the dark.

  
"Goddammit, Jon," Martin said; his voice sounded thick. "You shouldn't have--you should have left, that _thing--"_

  
There was a low, rhythmic rumbling noise--it took Jon a moment to recognize it as laughter.

  
"We're bait," Theo said miserably. "It's _coming_ now."

  
And for the first time since entering the warehouse, Jon thought he saw movement, just a flash, just out of the corner of his eye; something stalking around them in the blackness, something with impossible to define dimensions, something laughing in awful delight at its blind and helpless prey.

  
"Shit," Cecilea said. "Get up. Get up and _run."_

  
And she took off into the air, calling for them to follow her. The thing in the darkness surged forward. Jon grabbed for Martin's hand, found his elbow, and dragged him to his feet, charging after his daemon. It was how they had navigated the tunnels, when Not-Sasha had chased them, though Cecilea had been able to see then--Jon could feel the tug on their connection, followed that and her hooting through the dark, trusting her to guide him--

  
\--and then something in the dimensions of the place _shifted,_ went sideways in a dizzying, twisting way, and suddenly she was too far away and it was agony and he screamed and the monstrous presence was _right there--_

  
\--he fell, Martin yelling his name, and the twig in his hand snapped as it hit the ground.

  
Immediately there was a blinding white light, and as Jon's eyes adjusted he saw no monster, only the bland interior of a warehouse. The darkness, the oppressive heat, the humid pressure in the air all vanished, and Jon was panting on the floor, shivering as the cold hit him in full force. "Ce-Cecilea--"

  
His daemon fluttered across the floor towards him and he shuffled forwards on his knees to meet her, pulling her to his chest. "We need to go," Cecilea mumbled into his coat.

  
Martin helped him stand and hovered anxiously over his shoulder as he got his bearings. "Jon, I...I'm sorry, I was stupid--"

  
"It's all right," Jon said. He maneuvered Cecilea onto his wrist, then his shoulder, reaching into his pockets to put his gloves back on. "Let's just...go. I don't know how long that will work," he added, nodding at the broken twig. "Did you find out anything useful?"

  
"Not particularly," Martin said as they made their way outside. "She--she said something about breaking an arrangement and...and punishing the Archivist."

  
Cecilea made an irritated noise. "Elias _knew_ we'd talk to them," she grumbled. "He could have told us not to, he could have _warned_ us--"

  
"She mentioned something like that to us, too," Jon said, holding up a hand so Cecilea could nip irritably at his fingers. "Well. With any luck Elias will have to grovel a bit to get back in their graces. It would serve him right," he growled, glancing upwards as if checking the sky for an omnipresent eye.

  
Vira and Magda were were waiting for them, neither of their daemons present. Even after a few days of an adjustment period, it felt unnatural--not quite like watching Jude's skin warp and melt, but similar, just as much a reminder of inhumanity. Jon was growing rather sick of reminders of inhumanity.

  
"You were meant to be _watching,"_ he snarled, taking half a stride towards Magda before Martin managed to grab his arm and tug him back. "Did you know Elias had made a deal with them? How could you let this _happen?"_

  
"It was my fault--" Martin was saying, his tone fluttering somewhere between conciliatory and panicky. "Jon, it was a bad lie, don't--"

  
Magda had the grace to look chastised, glancing at Vira for support. Vira, for her part, only gestured for her to answer. "...I didn't know the details, no," Magda said. "I thought your master's--"

  
_"Don't,"_ Cecilea said, her voice low and dangerous. "Don't call it that."

  
Magda let out a slow breath through her nose. "I thought that the deal would work in your favor. That they wouldn't endanger your alliance. I was wrong and I..." (Another quick glance at Vira, who made a less patient gesture this time.) "I'm sorry," she spat, glowering in Martin's direction.

  
"How very genuine--" Jon muttered bitterly.

  
"Apology accepted!" Martin said over him. "Let's just get back to the house. Please."

* * *

"Not sure what I think of your new Archivist," Peter said. He was draped in Elias' office chair, turning a paperweight over in his hands, Iseult lounging at his feet. Sibyl hated him, and the way he made her already straining connection with Elias feel muddied and distant. Still, she sat placidly in her usual place, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of ruffling her feathers.

  
Elias sat at her side on the windowseat, leaning forward with his shirtsleeves rolled up, staring at Peter without blinking. (Another reason to hate Peter--just his presence made Elias' membrane of humanity grow thinner, enough to see the Eye peering out from beneath it.) "He's a far better Archivist than Gertrude was," Elias said. "I know you had some...unaccountable fondness for her."

  
"She was so _lonely,"_ Iseult sighed dreamily from where she lazed on the carpet. "This one has friends." She spat the word as if it were bitter on her tongue.

  
_"Jon_ hasn't tried to destroy my Institute," Elias pointed out. "He's powerful. Or he will be."

  
"No doubt," Peter said. He set the paperweight down and strolled over to stand in front of them, regarding them with a blank expression. "You're capable of controlling this one?" he asked. The question sounded languid on his tongue, but there was something in his eyes that made Sibyl uneasy.

  
"Jon was made to serve the Eye," Sibyl said, and wished it were less true.

  
Peter's eyes drifted over to her. "I believe it," he said. "But it isn't what I _asked."_

  
And then he touched her. His hand coiled loosely around her neck, his thumb stroking along her beak, and Sibyl shrieked, wings flapping hysterically; Peter released her at once and she cowered behind Elias, waiting for him to pull her into his arms and make Peter _leave--_

  
But he didn't. He only looked at her with an awful mix of curiosity and disappointment before turning back to Peter, leaving her to tremble behind his back. He didn't even sound winded as he spoke. "He isn't a threat, I can promise you that much."

  
"I certainly hope so," Peter said. His voice had become jovial and light again, smiling in a way that was nothing close to genuine. "I'll talk to you again soon, old friend. Hopefully when I do your house will be more in order."

  
And he was gone, the faintest echo of Iseult's laughter and a misplaced paperweight the only signs he had been there at all. Elias stood with a sigh, walking over to his desk and adjusting it carefully, his fingertips lingering on the paperweight. "Sibyl," he said, without turning, and Sibyl felt terror grip her heart. "I believe we need to have a talk."

* * *

"Okay, so he said he had a meeting around now, so we should have a little time," Basira said, leaning over the array of statements and files scattered over her kitchen table.

  
"How'd you find that out?" Melanie asked.

  
"Just asked him what he was doing over the weekend," Basira said with a shrug. "Sibyl nodded at Amosis behind his back, so I assume he was telling the truth."

  
"I think you're his favorite," Roland said.

  
"Lucky me. Let's focus, can we? Everything I've read seems to point to these...things either having no daemons at all, or having...malformed ones."

  
"Yeah, Prentiss' was worm chow," Melanie said, counting off on her fingers. She didn't notice Amosis flinching. "Perry's burned, none of the ghosts I saw had any at all--you said Raynor's was blind?"

  
"Something like that," Basira said. She splayed her palm over Amosis' shell. "It was... Well, it was dark. I just know there was something wrong with its eyes."

  
Melanie leaned back in her chair, frowning. "And Jon's notes say Elias has been in charge for way longer than a couple months--I don't get it."

  
Basira let out a breath, staring up at the ceiling as she spoke. "She...could be lying to us."

  
"She wasn't," Roland said instantly. He shifted awkwardly as Basira turned to look at him. "It's just--you weren't there, you didn't _hear_ her. It's like picking out a real ghost story from a fake, okay? I just know she wasn't lying."

  
"Okay," Basira said. "I trust you. But that doesn't explain why."

  
"Or what to do about it," Amosis added. "Especially if..." He trailed off.

  
"What?" Melanie asked. "Especially if what?"

  
"It's just...she wants us to save Elias, right? And stop the Eye? But...how can we do both? In any of the statements we've read, when has _anyone_ gotten out once something had them?"

  
Melanie was silent for a moment. "W-well, there was that guy you talked to, in the spiral--" she started, but Basira was shaking her head.

  
"That isn't what I mean," she said. "Like--Jane Prentiss. If they tugged every worm out of her and gave her full-body skin grafts to fix all the holes and rot, would she have been 'saved'? Would she wake up and go back to being a normal person?" Amosis had pulled himself entirely into his shell. "And that's not even getting into the question of whether we can stop the Eye at all--the way Jon talks about these... _things,_ these _powers?_ We aren't _stopping_ any of them. We're just delaying them. We're _buying time,_ not saving the world."

  
"So what do you think we should do?" Melanie asked, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Just give up and hope for the best? Sibyl asked me to help her, and I..." She trailed off, huffing out a frustrated noise. "I don't like this, all right? It's fucked up and I hate it, and if Sybil is stuck here as much as the rest of us, then...I don't mind helping her."

  
"And that's fair," Basira said. "And we can try to help her. But if we run out of options--if it's her or us--I'm just saying, I know who I'm picking."

* * *

Tim jittered on the couch--he couldn't bear being in the kitchen with the silent radio and the man whose name he still didn't know. The house was hidden, apparently, from Elias' sight--at least it was according to the mystery man and the less friendly of the two witches. She had left after declaring the spell sufficient, though her daemon remained in the kitchen, speaking in low tones with the man.

  
He hadn't thought to see how long it had been since Jon had left--hours, it felt like. Longer than it should have. Or maybe he was just reminded of when Danny had left him behind--waiting for the moment that waiting became unbearable and he charged out into the cold, to see for himself what awful fate had befallen his friends. (Friends? He wasn't sure anymore--maybe once he would have cheerfully called them work friends, but now they were more like cellmates, weren't they?)

  
Sellig bit him and Tim hissed, yanked out of his thoughts. "What was that for?" he asked, flexing his fingers.

  
"Don't want to think about that," Sellig said flatly. "Pet me."

  
Tim flicked his ear. "As you wish, Your Majesty." He ran his nails down his daemon's back, and felt both of them relax in increments as he did. His mind started, once or twice, to wander down dark paths, but he managed to jolt himself out of them without getting bitten, focusing instead on the soft fluff under his fingers. He had fallen into something like a trance when the front door finally opened and both he and Sellig bolted off the couch.

  
Tim wasn't sure the last time he had been so happy to see Jon and Cecilea fuming the way they were. Martin and Theo looked--tired, a little shaken, but still whole, still unhurt enough to fuss over Jon. Sellig darted past Tim to greet Theo, running clever paws along her face and ears, petting and prodding at her before nuzzling the top of her head, splaying her ears on either side of his face.

  
"Hi, Sellig," Theo said. "We're okay."

  
"You shouldn't have gone alone," Sellig grumbled, stroking a paw down her side. "It was a stupid plan."

  
Tim glanced away from the look Martin was giving him. He focused instead on Jon glaring down the witch daemon on the kitchen table. Cecilea flexed her talons at him. "You," she said softly, "should go." Tim expected the ptarmigan to put up a fight, but instead it only puffed up its feathers before taking off through the kitchen window (the one that always seemed to be conveniently open when he needed to make a quick exit). Jon stalked over and slammed it shut after him.

  
The mystery man watched this warily, shrinking away from Jon's gaze when he rounded on him. "Are you all right?" he asked timidly. It was difficult to gauge his sincerity without his daemon at his side, and it irked Tim, made him want to lash out again. Sellig climbed up his legs to his shoulder and nipped sharply at his ear.

  
Jon took a steadying breath. "Yes," he said. "Thank you. We're hidden now?"

  
The man nodded.

  
"Uhm," Martin muttered to Tim, sidling up to him, Theo cradled in his arms. "Who's he?"

  
Tim shrugged. "We allowed to ask that, yet?" he asked, more loudly, and Jon arched an eyebrow at the man.

  
The man sighed. "I'm Gerard Keay. You might have...read about me."

  
Martin's jaw dropped. "Oh, wow. I have! You were in _so_ many statements," he said, then looked a little embarrassed. "I mean, I...I would have thought I'd have recognized you..."

  
"Yeah, well. Being the son of a witch has some perks."

  
"What? You too?" Jon said, his eyebrows shooting up.

  
"Yeah. I mean, kind of. It's complicated?" Gerard shifted awkwardly. "I _am_ sorry," he added in a rush, glancing around the room. "I didn't mean to scare you, and I was going to talk to you eventually, I just..."

  
Jon waved his apologies away, sinking into a kitchen chair. "As long as you intend to answer our questions now, it will be...fine."

  
"Boss..." Tim started, then hesitated.

  
Sellig leapt off his shoulder onto the kitchen table, standing on his hind legs to inspect a startled Cecilea. "You're exhausted," he said. He turned to Gerard. "The spell isn't going anywhere, right?"

  
Gerard shook his head. "It will still be here tomorrow," he said. "And so will I," he added. Tim got the impression he was trying to be as genuine as possible, either to make up for his earlier actions or just to make up for his daemon's continued, unsettling absence. "Your assistant is right, Archivist, you'll just hurt yourself if--"

  
"Jon," Jon said. He rubbed his eyes. "Call me Jon. Please."

  
"You should rest, Jon," Gerard said, very gently. "It's been a long day. Anything you want to know, you can ask me tomorrow, bright and early. Promise."

  
Later, after Gerard and Martin had finally managed to coax Jon into bed, Tim stood in the kitchen alone, mechanically sorting through piles of paper and putting them aside. "You're feeling cuddly," he said, once he had to admit to himself that he wasn't going to get the stack of paper in his hands any straighter.

  
Sellig's tail twitched, brushing against Tim's ear. "...It isn't like we've got anyone else left," he finally said softly. "And they're our best chance to..." He trailed off, ears perking up as he glanced towards the hall.

  
"Tim, are you in here?" Martin peered around the corner, brow furrowed. Theo bounded forward, hopping up onto the kitchen table, standing on her hind legs to wiggle her nose at Sellig. "Are you, um. Okay?"

  
Tim flicked the corner of the file in his hands. "I should be asking you that," he said without looking up. Sellig slipped off his shoulders to greet Theo, placid and docile as she nuzzled against him. Tim let his eyes flutter shut at the sensation--it had really been a long time, since they'd let their guard down long enough to do this. Since the corridors, maybe, and that had mostly been because of the mortal terror.

  
"You just seem...different."

  
"You mean I'm not acting like a total prick?" Tim asked, expecting Martin to be reassuring.

  
Instead he said, "Well, yeah."

  
Tim let out a bitter little laugh. "Yeah, well, it gets a little tiring, is all." He tossed the file onto the kitchen table and met Martin's eyes. There was worry there, but a kind of grim determination, too, and Tim sighed. "I was scared for you. Both of you," he ground out, though it pained him to admit it. "So, yeah, it's been a long day. It's been a long...Christ, year? More? I dunno."

  
"Tim--"

  
"Do you know who Jon was talking about, when he said he knew someone else who was related to witches?" Tim asked, steamrolling over Martin's concern.

  
Theo stomped and butted her head against Sellig. "Let us _help_ you!" she snapped.

  
"You can't," Sellig said, but there was no heat in it, and he remained limp and passive as Theo batted at him. "Tea and biscuits won't fix what's wrong with us."

  
"We don't want to fix you," Martin said gently as Theo made an uncharacteristic grunting noise. "We just want to help."

  
"You _can't,"_ Tim said, more hotly than his daemon had. "It doesn't matter anyway, all right? Some horrible monsters took Danny and now the goddamn Institute is going to take me and _it doesn't matter."_

  
The silence that followed was heavy and awkward, though Martin made a valiant effort at sounding composed when he spoke again. "Danny was...?"

  
"My brother," Tim said miserably, sitting down heavily. Sellig bounded into his lap, curling into a tight ball. "The fucking..." He waved a hand in agitated impatience. "The Circus. The Stranger. Whatever they're calling themselves. They killed him, I think. Marion--his daemon--she was still...look, it isn't important."

  
"But we're going to stop the Stranger," Theo said, peering over the edge of the table at Sellig. "That's why we're here, to learn how to stop them."

  
"All right," Tim said. "Say we manage it. We save the world. Yay." He waved one hand in mock celebration. "Then what happens? We live happily ever after? Or someone else pulls the same thing? _Elias_ pulls the same thing?"

  
Martin opened his mouth and closed it again quickly, sitting down across from Tim and pulling Theo into his own lap. "I didn't...think of that," he said softly.

  
"And you think Jon will help us stop _that?"_

  
"Yes!" Martin said quickly. "You don't? He _hates_ Elias!"

  
"Elias, sure," Sellig said gloomily. "Not the Institute. Not the thing _behind_ Elias. Not enough."

  
"You're wrong," Theo said, but she sounded shaky, unsure. "He wouldn't...he wouldn't do..."

  
Tim shrugged. "Sure. Maybe not now. Maybe not even in a year." The unspoken conclusion, that eventually he _might,_ was left hanging in the air. Tim stood, slinging Sellig over his shoulder. "I'm tired," he announced. "Big day of interrogation tomorrow."

  
"Yeah," Martin said. He tugged lightly on Theo's ears. "Yeah, get some sleep. I'll be right there."

  
He sat at the kitchen table for a long time after that.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon goes for a walk.

"You look tired. Did you sleep all right?"

  
Martin glanced up from staring into his tea. Cecilea had settled on the table next to Theo, regarding her with a tilted head and bright eyes. "We--" Theo broke herself off with a wide yawn. "Er, we were up a little late," she said, whiskers twitching.

  
"No...nightmares?" Cecilea asked, haltingly, as if she felt awkward doing so.

  
"Not any more than usual," Theo responded. She hesitated, then nuzzled up against Cecilea's bulk. "Thank you for coming after us," she said, very quietly. Cecilea's feathers fluffed up and she nipped at Theo's ears.

  
"Of course."

  
They were seated around the table, finishing the world's most uncomfortable breakfast. Tim was leaned up against the counter, on his second cup of coffee, throwing Gerard the occasional distrusting glance, mostly only talking to Sellig. Jon was also glancing at Gerard, though he was less distrustful than... _curious._ There was something undeniably _hungry_ in his eyes, however much Martin tried not to see it.

  
For his part, Martin was leaning more towards curious than hostile, and maybe a little pitying, if he were being honest with himself. He felt it around the witches, too, when their daemons were elsewhere--it stirred something in him, a terrible loneliness that reminded him of Jane Prentiss and her absent daemon, and her whispers of how much she missed him. Martin couldn't help but wonder if it were the same for Gerard. If he missed his daemon while she was away. Martin couldn't imagine what he would do if Theodora were gone.

  
"What did you want to ask me, Jon?"

  
Gerard's voice cut through Martin's musings and he jumped; Gerard was looking at Jon as if he were bracing for something. It made sense, Martin supposed, if he had known Gertrude. He knew what an Archivist were capable of, after all.

  
Jon hesitated for a moment, his fingers drumming against the tabletop. "Would you mind telling me about Mary Keay?"

  
Gerard nodded slowly, letting out a long breath. "All right," he said. "So...Mum wasn't a witch, technically. Talking to Magda about it, even if she were, her experiments probably would have gotten her thrown out of any...legitimate clan. But she knew some witchlore--family legend says my great, great grandfather saved a witch's life once and learned a few tricks, but it's probably just as likely he stole whatever secrets he knew. That's how Mary did learned everything my grandmother didn't teach her. She stole it."

  
Gerard glanced away, looking uncomfortable. "Mum and Gertrude had a...complicated relationship? I don't know, I didn't ask. I know Mum taught Gertrude some tricks and I know that after what she did with the book, Gertrude was the one to...put an end to it."

  
"What do you mean?" Cecilea asked. "What did she do with it?"

  
"The one thing you can't _learn_ about being a witch," Gerard said carefully, "is how to be immortal. Mary...wanted that. More than power, more than secrets, more than anything. So she tried to use that...fucking skin book. It went...poorly. It half worked, but half working magic is usually a lot worse than outright failed magic. Gertrude was the one to put her down."

  
"Are you...all right?" Jon asked, after a brief silence.

  
Gerard snorted. "Not really, it was a goddamn nightmare. She had it coming, but...I mean, she was awful, I know that. She was awful _to me,_ even. I think I hated her more often than not. But she was..." He trailed off.

  
(In Martin's lap, Theo twitched, aching with the urge to comfort Gerard. It was so clear he needed his daemon, wherever she was; as a compromise, she nuzzled closer to Martin, ears quivering. He ran a hand down her spine and stared, enraptured, at Gerard as he began to speak again.)

  
"That's when I started helping Gertrude, anyway. I didn't have much else to do, now that Mary wasn't around to go book shopping for." There was bitterness in his voice as he said it.

  
"So you helped her stop the other...rituals?" Jon asked, leaning forward eagerly. "Do you know how to stop the Unknowing?"

  
"Well, no," Gerard said, and held up his hands in a placating gesture as Jon fell back with a huff of annoyance. "I--look, I...Gertrude...asked me to wait here for you."

  
Silence fell. It was Tim who broke it. "What the hell are you talking about?" he said. "Gertrude's dead. _You're_ supposed to be dead, for that matter. Are you saying--?"

  
"Gertrude is dead," Gerard said flatly. "She knew...she knew that was a risk. And she knew you'd come here, eventually. So she...she helped me fake my death. I...it was..." He looked imploringly at Jon.

  
"Why did she help you fake your death?" Jon asked, accommodating.

  
"It was her last favor to me," Gerard said, pained. "I'd help you, and then...I'd be free. I could live a normal life, if I wanted. The Institute would think I was dead, Mary was gone, Gertrude would be gone...I just had to stay here and wait for you to come."

  
There was another brief silence as Jon mulled this over, gnawing on a thumbnail. "Vira and Magda were in on it, weren't they?" Cecilea asked.

  
"Yeah. Their clan owed her for all the rituals she helped fuck up, otherwise they probably would have just killed her for asking." Gerard glanced around at their startled faces and pulled a slightly horrific grin. "What, you think the witches would be fond of her otherwise? Or of any of us, for that matter? We're _unnatural,_ you know."

  
"...Right," Jon muttered. "So why did Gertrude want you to meet us? What did you have to tell us?"

  
"It's more something I have to...show you."

  
"Well, show me, then," Jon said.

  
Gerard's grin had faded and he glanced away. "You aren't gonna like it."

  
"There isn't much up here I _have_ liked."

  
"...We'll need a lift."

* * *

Flying with Vira and Magda was less exhilarating now that Martin knew they were only helpful because they owed Gertrude a favor. He clung to Jon, who clung to Magda, and stared down at the abandoned mines and stretches of icy land as they sped over them. He could see Cecilea out of the corner of his eye, keeping pace with the cloud pine that seemed as if it should have been more weighed down than it was, under the weight of three adults. Martin tried not to think of it, and instead watched as they passed over a stretch of water--the ocean or some arctic lake, Martin wasn't sure.

  
By the time they landed, Martin's fingers were stiff and aching, and his eyes were watering from the stinging wind. As he blinked the tears away, he realized he was staring at a vast expanse of dead earth, and sucked in a breath. Something about it stirred terror in his heart, and from the looks of things, it wasn't just him. Sellig was clinging to Tim's chest, refusing to even look at the stretch of blackened dirt; Theo let out a whine and nudged Martin's chin, crawling up and out of where she'd been tucked into his coat.

  
"I don't like this," she whispered. "Martin, I don't _like_ this place, I want to go back--"

  
"Why are we here again?"

  
Martin cringed, his hands coming up to crush Theo to his chest. He'd never heard Cecilea sound like that, high-pitched and unhinged, terror in every syllable. When he looked up, Jon was staring out at the flat expanse of earth, and Cecilea had thrown herself forward into his face, talons extended, every line of her defensive and furious. Her wings flapped once, twice, and then she grasped at Jon's coat, clinging to him and forcing him to hold her up.

  
"Jon," Gerard said quietly, and Martin jumped, having nearly forgotten he was there. He hesitated, then only said, "I'm sorry. I'll go with you."

  
Realization hit Martin like a truck. "Jon--"

  
He was drowned out by Cecilea shrieking wordlessly. Jon cringed at the noise, shoulders hunching. "Don't," Cecilea begged, and god, Martin didn't want to be here, either, didn't want to watch this, didn't want it to happen at all. Jon cradled Cecilea in his arms, murmuring something to her that Martin couldn't hear. "Don't _leave_ me," Cecilea pleaded.

  
Martin couldn't imagine anything that would make him leave Theo behind if she had asked that of him--but Jon turned, nodded at Gerard, and set Cecilea gently down, starting towards the stretch of dead earth. Cecilea screeched again and launched herself at him--only to stop short with an agonized cry at the edge of the ruined soil, collapsing in a heap of feathers before struggling upright and going stock still, silent and staring as Jon walked stiffly away and away and away, until he stumbled and had to cling to Gerard for support to keep walking. Cecilea's chest heaved.

  
Martin was still staring in blank horror after Jon when he heard Tim moving past him; he folded his legs under himself and sat at Cecilea's side, and Sellig hopped to the ground, cuddling against Cecilea's side and wrapping his tail around her, running his paws along her feathers. Martin followed suit, ignoring the chill of the hard ground beneath him, lowering Theo to the ground so she could nuzzle up against Cecilea's other side.

  
"Idiot," Tim muttered, watching Jon struggle across the wastes.

  
"You're gonna be okay," Martin said.

  
The witches stood silently at their backs, bows drawn to fight off any danger, looking anywhere but at the dead stretch of land in front of them.

* * *

"I'll be back," Jon whispered, "I promise, I swear it, I just need to _know."_   
"Don't _leave_ me," Cecilea pleaded, though she knew it was useless. She wanted to know just as badly. She hated it, but she understood, and she hated that she understood.

  
There was no bracing for it. Even back in the warehouse, when space had twisted around them in ways it shouldn't have, that brief yank of pain was nothing compared to this--the slow, snapping stretching of their bond, threatening at every second to rip apart in messy strands. Cecilea was aware that Sellig and Theo were at her side, huddled close against the cold and the terror and the anguish, but she didn't move, didn't loosen the tension in every feather and fiber of her. Her heart hurt--he was walking without her across dead ice and dirt and he hurt.

  
Cecilea lost track of time, lost track of anything that wasn't fear or misery, staring straight ahead long after Jon and Gerard were gone from sight, dipped behind an almost imperceptible shift in the landscape.

  
It wasn't a gradual shift from pain to not-pain--it came all at once, the relief so sudden and sharp that she cried out. Sellig and Theo started, and Theo began to ask if she was all right, but Cecilea had already spread her wings and bolted into the sky, flying away as fast as her wings and her rage would carry her.

* * *

Jon didn't look back. If he looked back, it was over, he would give in and go running back to his daemon and beg her forgiveness, promise never to leave her side again, and then he would never know what Gerard needed to show him so damn badly in the first place.

  
The first roiling stab of pain nearly bowled him over. He clung to Gerard's arm, sucking in a breath and holding it.

  
"Breathe, Jon," Gerard said, urging him forward. "Don't hold your breath, you'll make it worse." Jon exhaled in an explosive gasp and began sucking in rapid, shallow breaths. "Nope, not like that," Gerard said, patting his back. "Come on, don't pass out on me, nice slow breaths, there you go..."

  
"T-talk to me," Jon gasped, cutting through Gerard's comforting babble. "You--you did this, didn't you? Tell me--"

  
"Yeah," Gerard said, still speaking in low, soothing tones. "I was...younger. It wasn't here. There are...other places, like this. All of them are pretty jealously guarded, Mary would have been a fucking pincushion if we'd been caught, but we managed it."

  
Jon could see it as Gerard spoke it--leaning over the rail of a boat with his daemon on his shoulder--and god, he was young enough that she could still change shape, shifting from a grey cat to a seal as she leapt into the water, diving down and splashing his face before becoming a seagull and settling on the rail at his side once more. Then sudden panic as an all-too-familiar polar bear knocked her overboard and the agony that came after. He was old enough not to want to cry in front of a stranger, and stared in hurt and terror at the faces of the impassive sea captain and his mother, stiffened with pain and scowling but determined, staring straight ahead instead of back at her own daemon. There was shrieking and splashing behind them, and Jon learned what it sounded like when a polar bear held a rapidly shape-shifting daemon in place.

  
It took Jon a moment to realize the pain--the real pain, not the echoes of Gerard's--had gone, like a knot suddenly loosening. He let out a shuddering breath. He wanted to ask more--about how old Gerard could possibly have been, about what Peter Lukas had been doing helping Mary Keay, about what terrible ritual had killed that lonely stretch of ocean in the first place. But Gerard looked shaken, so he refrained.

  
"You Archivists are...that endorphin rush really is something," Gerard said, trying to sound conversational. "Are you all right?"

  
"I'm...yes." Jon reluctantly let go of Gerard, taking a few tremulous steps under his own weight. It was...alarming, to be honest, that the pain was gone and Cecilea was nowhere to be seen. He felt hollowed out, shaken--but not destroyed, not an empty husk. Still himself, somehow. "Gerard...um, thank you. You didn't..." Jon trailed off, just stopping himself from saying _you didn't have to,_ because, well. He had, hadn't he. "Thank you for coming with me."

  
"Hey, I did it alone and it sucked," Gerard said, shrugging one shoulder. "Wasn't gonna do that to you. We should be almost there, now."

  
It was true--Jon could see what he assumed was the center of the ritual site now, a sunken pit filled with ash. At the center of it were crumbled stone remains, what Vira had called the Sepulcher, standing like a lonely grave. And sitting on one of the overturned stones, her face fixed in the direction they were approaching, was Gertrude Robinson.

* * *

"What is happening?" Elias asked. He couldn't compel people, it wasn't in his repertoire, but his Sight was fixed on Sibyl, his mind more entangled with hers than it had been in years. She could no more lie to him than--well, than she could have when she had been a ferret and he had been only Elias Bouchard. She fluttered weakly on the ground at his feet.

  
"I don't know," she whispered. "I'm not lying!" she cried, despairing, as Elias' features twitched in disappointment. "Something is hiding him. You can look for yourself, Elias, please--!"

  
He did, eyes closing and other Eyes opening, the frustration on his face growing as the holes in their knowledge became apparent. He sighed heavily, opening his eyes. "Very well. We'll worry about that later." He reached out and Sibyl flinched (she flinched, away from her heart, her beloved Elias, the other half of her _soul--),_ but he only ran his fingertip gently between her eyes, down her beak. "It's always like this," he said, sounding mournful. "You never make it easy."

  
"Elias--?"

  
"Yes," Elias said. "And more than that. It's all right. I'll make sure you understand, soon."

* * *

Cecilea flew until her wings would carry her no more, then crumpled, landing on an outcropping of rock overlooking the ocean. She remembered flying over water to reach the ritual site, wondered if this was the same stretch of sea. She hadn't been paying attention when she'd fled. Perhaps she would never find her way back, and would wander the arctic forever, never to see her stupid, insatiable Jon again.

  
She let out a warbling, self-pitying hoot, listened to it echo as it tumbled down the cliffside to the ocean.

  
"Cecilea?"

  
Cecilea's head swiveled around to look behind her and up the cliff. A raven daemon flapped down to settle next to her on the rock--not so close they were touching, but close enough that Cecilea could initiate contact if she wanted. "I'm--"

  
"Gerard Keay's," Cecilea said. "I know."

  
"Maxa," said the raven. She hopped forward slightly. "I was angry, too, when...when it happened."

  
"You were forced," Cecilea said. She hated that she knew that, but more, she hated that she _envied_ it, that at least Gerard and Maxa were ripped apart by monsters, with no choice in the matter.

  
"I know," Maxa said. "I was still pissed. I wanted him to have jumped overboard. I think you have more a right to be angry than I did."

  
"How long did you stay away?" Cecilea asked.

  
"Not long," Maxa admitted. "I knew we couldn't have stopped it. I hadn't wanted to admit it, but...I knew. And I couldn't leave Gerry alone to deal with our mother."

  
Cecilea huddled against the rock, staring down at the grey ocean, unblinking. "I would have done the same, if it were the other way around," she admitted grudgingly. "Left him. Gone to see the center."

  
"You're more reasonable than me already," Maxa said. She inched closer, settled in so she was pressed wing to wing with Cecilea. "I kept telling myself I would have jumped. I wouldn't."

  
They lapsed into silence, watching the waves below them.

* * *

"You said she was dead!" Jon hissed, grabbing Gerard's arm again in a crushing grip. He didn't take his eyes off the figure in the distance.

  
"She _is_ dead," Gerard replied. "Come on, better not keep her waiting."

  
As they approached, it became uncomfortably clear that the figure sitting in the wreckage was not...solid. Not quite transparent, not completely, but _shimmery,_ and distinctly daemonless. "Melanie would have a field day," Jon muttered.

  
"Who's that?"

  
"She does..." Jon trailed off, unwilling to say "ghost stuff" when an actual ghost was staring at him. He let out a shaky breath. "Miss Robinson," he said instead, louder, by way of greeting.

  
"Archivist," she said, and she sounded very, disturbingly real, even as she nodded her head and left blurry afterimages in the air behind her. Her eyes wandered towards Gerard and she smiled, nodded in something like dismissal. Then she turned back to Jon, and patted the stone next to her.

  
Jon glanced at Gerard, who gave a sardonic little bow, gesturing him closer. "Right." Jon sat across from her, rather than at her side, scowling. "I...how are you...doing this?"

  
Gertrude smiled faintly, in every sense of the phrase. "It took some doing," she said. "It isn't pleasant. The End left this place...scarred. Touched by death. It is...close by, to where I am." She paused, her smile twitching into a thoughtful expression. "You're powerful," she said. "Do you like it, being the Archivist?"

  
Jon blinked. "I...haven't had a chance to think about it," he stammered. "I suppose I--I preferred when no one was trying to kill me," he added.

  
"Hmm."

  
"I...I'm trying to stop the Unknowing," he said, figuring he may as well push his luck. "Do you know how to do that?"

  
"Elias hasn't figured it out, then?" Gertrude asked, smiling unpleasantly. "What a pity."

  
"If he has, he hasn't clued me in," Jon grumbled. "You were trying to stop it--all of it, weren't you?"

  
"I was. The Unknowing..." Gertrude gazed off into the distance. The angle of her head made the sunlight shine _through_ her; Jon cringed and looked away, towards Gerard, who gave him a one-shouldered shrug. "It's a difficult one," she said. "The Stranger is flexible. Their very nature is, hm...malleable. The dancers can change, the catalyst can change, the location can change. Destroying one won't guarantee the ritual will be ruined for very long."

  
"So...so what can I do? What's their antithesis?"

  
"Ah, clever you. Do you have any theories?"

  
Jon floundered. "I think--being seen? Being _understood?_ If everyone knew what the Not Them was, it wouldn't be...what it is."

  
"That it wouldn't," Gertrude agreed.

  
Jon hesitated, then said softly, "I won't...I won't do what you did." Gertrude tilted her head at him, and he continued in a rush. "To Michael Shelley. I--I can't. If you're going to tell me I need to send someone to their gruesome death, then I might as well leave."

  
Gertrude's expression was difficult to pin down, and not only because she was transparent. Finally she spoke. "No," she said, "I imagine it isn't fair to expect that of you." She lifted her hand, held it vaguely in midair, then folded it in her lap, a frown creasing her features. "There are other measures to be taken. I imagine you've found my hiding spot by now, a clever Archivist like yourself. The key is for a storage unit, near Hainault. Plan B is in there. It will be more dangerous--more chances for failure--but perhaps if you can get the timing right, you can walk away without blood on your hands."

  
She looked away, and Jon took the opportunity to study her features. He had built her up in his mind as something inhuman, and she _wasn't_ human now, ghostly and flickering in the arctic light. But perhaps there was something more flesh and blood of her, and less of steel. "You didn't call me here to talk about the Unknowing," Jon said.

  
Gertrude nodded, turning her gaze on him once more. "No. Care to guess why I did?"

  
Jon wet his lips, eyes casting about the blighted landscape. "F-for...for the Eye's," he whispered. He hadn't dared give voice to the idea before now, not even to Cecilea, though he knew she harbored the same suspicions. "For whatever ritual Elias has planned. ...For _my_ part in it."

  
Gertrude's expression softened, just slightly. "Yes, Archivist. For that. For the Watcher's Crown."

  
"How...how do I stop it?" Jon asked. His fingers twitched; he longed for Cecilea. "Can... _can_ I stop it?"

  
"Beholding," Gertrude said, "is not so flexible as the Stranger. It's a matter of timing. And a matter of...unraveling." She met Jon's eyes. "What are you, Archivist?"

  
"I--I--I don't know."

  
"All those statements. All that knowledge. All fed to the Archivist, all collected in one perfect vessel."

  
Jon let out a breath, though he felt there was no air left in him. "A sacrifice?" he breathed.

  
"A piece," Gertrude replied. "A part of a whole, to be coalesced, collected. To be cataloged. Do you understand?"

  
Jon pressed a hand to his mouth. "Why didn't it stop it when you--" He cut himself off. Timing, she had said. Elias had orchestrated the whole thing--he'd had plenty of time to find a replacement. To find Jon. _She wasn’t as good an Archivist as you are._

  
Gertrude looked at him with pity in her eyes. "I _am_ sorry," she said. "I had planned for it to end with me, but it didn't turn out that way, and now here we are. Perhaps you can find another way. But..."

  
"Well at least you were willing to walk the walk," Jon said dizzily. He thought of maps and corridors. He wanted to laugh. "It's dead now, you know. I think. That thing you made."

  
Gertrude sighed. "Poor Michael Shelley," she muttered, looking away, across the stretch of black earth. "I knew it was unlikely, but I had hoped...well, it hardly matters, now."

  
"No," said Jon. "I suppose it doesn't."

* * *

Jon was vaguely surprised to see Tim and Martin waiting up for him when he limped into the kitchen, leaning against Gerard for support. He was more surprised to see Cecilea was there as well, perched on a high cabinet next to a raven that Jon knew immediately was Gerard's daemon.

  
Jon had half a second to ponder this before Cecilea dive-bombed him, hitting him like a ton of bricks and pecking and scratching his face and arms, hissing expletives at him while he stumbled backwards into a wall. Finally she seemed satisfied, nipped his hand with one final, snarled, _"Idiot bastard!"_ and fluttered up onto her usual perch on his shoulder, seething there.

  
Jon lowered his arms and glanced around the room. Gerard was having a much more subdued reunion with his daemon, nuzzling her gently; Tim and Sellig were eyeing him with matching expressions of caution; Martin had stood and was carefully ushering Jon into a seat. "Vira gave us tea for you," Theo said. "She said it would help with the...um. Symptoms."

  
Jon nodded. Gerard had told him there would be side effects. Anxiety, exhaustion, aches and pains--it seemed to Jon he had undersold them, but knowing there was something to take for it was a comfort, however small.

  
Martin busied himself with the tea, and Jon slowly managed to convince Cecilea to let him stroke her. Her anger seemed to have burned itself out quickly; soon she was in his lap, wings splayed out so Jon could groom them, her eyes heavy-lidded.

  
Martin placed a steaming mug of reddish liquid in front of him. "Did, um...did it help?" he asked, sitting down and toying with Theo's ears. "What did you learn?"

  
Jon swallowed thickly. "I...have a lead on the Unknowing," he said. He could feel Cecilea tensing beneath his hands. "And...and on what Elias is...planning."

  
There was a thick silence. Slowly, painfully, Jon told them everything, about meeting Gertrude, about her "Plan B," about what he suspected the Watcher's Crown would entail.

  
There was another silence as he finished, somehow even heavier this time. "So Elias wants to...what," Tim said slowly. "Wait until you're nice and full of statements and... _mind meld_ with you?"

  
"I...suspect it's something like that," Jon said. "The Eye wants knowledge, just like the Spiral wanted chaos and confusion. But," he continued, his fingers sinking into Cecilea's feathers, "if that knowledge were lost...if there weren't an Archivist..."

  
Martin spoke first this time. _"No,"_ he said firmly. "Absolutely not. There's got to be another way, we'll _find_ another way!"

  
"Maybe," Jon conceded. "But if we don't, if the time comes and we haven't--I--I'd want you to..." He couldn't finish the sentence; his hands shook, and Cecilea nipped at his fingers, more gently this time, cooing softly.

  
"I'll do it," Tim said, without looking up.

  
_"Tim!"_

  
"If I have to," Tim pressed on, over Martin's protests. He glanced up, just briefly, his face clouded. "Even if you don't still want me to, I...I'll do it, if it comes to that."

  
"If I... I don't _want_ to die, but--" Jon cut himself off, looking quickly away from the anguish on Martin's face and the hard calculation in Tim's. "If I'm willing to go through with the ritual," Jon said, slowly, picking each word with precision, "then it isn't...me, anymore."

  
Tim nodded and looked out the window, mouth twisted in a scowl, his hands trembling as he stroked Sellig's fur. "I'll try to make it quick," he mumbled.

  
"Jon," Martin said helplessly. Theo had buried her face in her paws. "We--we _will_ find another way," he said. "We have time, we...we won't have to _do_ this."

  
"I'm sure you're right," Jon said. He wasn't certain he meant it.

* * *

"What are you going to do now?"

  
It was early, obscenely so; Martin and Tim had long since gone to sleep, having packed quickly in preparation for leaving later in the day. They would take a boat--a tourist cruise ship, not the _Tundra--_ to the mainland and catch a flight from there. Gerard sat in the kitchen, silently stroking Maxa's wings. Jon and Cecilea took a seat across from him.

  
Gerard shrugged, the expression on his face blank. "I've been here for two years," he said. "Just waiting for you. Mary's gone. Gertrude's gone, now, too. I'm free. I have nothing left." He looked up. "To do, I mean."

  
"Of course."

  
They were silent a moment. Thin arctic light streamed through the kitchen windows. "I hope you do find another way," Gerard said eventually. "I know my first impression kinda sucked, but I don't want you to die."

  
Jon snorted. "Thank you. That means a lot."

  
"If there's something we can do to help you..." Cecilea said.

  
"Just let them think we're dead," Maxa said. "That will be plenty." She cocked her head. "And if you need anything, you can come find us."

  
"If we can help you not die, we'd want to," Gerard added.

  
"Thank you, Gerard."

  
"Gerry," Maxa said.

  
"What?"

  
Gerard looked sheepishly at the tabletop. "It's...she always insisted my friends should call me that," he said. He glanced up out of the corner of his eye. "I wanted my friends to call me that."

  
"Well then, thank you, Gerry."

  
"Good luck, Jon."


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things continue going wrong.

"I'm sorry," Martin said abruptly. They were on the plane to London from Oslo--Tim was dozing across the aisle from them, and Martin had been staring dolefully out the window since they'd boarded. He spoke without facing Jon, his mouth a tight line, squeezing one of Theo's paws between his fingers.

  
"For what?"

  
Martin took a deep breath, glancing around the compartment. "For last night," he said lowly. "For not...not wanting to..."

  
Cecilea blinked at him. "Are you apologizing because you don't want to kill us?" she asked bluntly.

  
"Um. Yes? When you say it like that it seems silly." He let out a desperate little laugh, lowering his gaze to his lap. "I want to help you, Jon, but I...I don't know if I could do...that. I...care about you."

  
Jon glanced away, slightly uncomfortable, whether over the admission or the apology he wasn't certain. "It's all right," he said. "You're right. We have some time. Let's worry about the Stranger first and then we'll...we'll figure something out."

  
After a moment, Theo stirred in Martin's lap. "Do you think Elias will be angry about what happened? With Optic Solutions?"

  
Jon snorted. "If he is, it's his own fault." He tapped his armrest. "I don't know why he didn't warn me. He told me about the Lukas family ages ago, before..." He waved his hand vaguely. "Before," he finished blandly.

  
"The Lukases are real donors, aren't they?" Martin said. "I mean, they give the Institute money, in the...in the real world." (Jon didn't comment that his phrasing might be a bit disingenuous.) "Maybe the deal with Optic Solutions is more. Well. Spooky."

  
"Perish the thought," Jon grumbled. "Peter Lukas was 'spooky' enough." He paused. "That is, however...unfortunately...a likely, if unnerving, theory. I wonder what they're getting out of it. I wonder what we are."

  
"You said some of the wax people were helping the Circus, didn't you?" Theo offered. "Maybe it's like that. Maybe there are all these little alliances of convenience, trying to make sure the rituals that succeed or fail are the ones they want until they can start to work on their own." Her ears drooped as she noticed Jon and Cecilea's eyes on her. "Um, it's just a theory," she said. "Maybe it's nothing. Never mind."

  
"No," Cecilea said slowly, "no that...that makes sense."

  
Theo lit up. "If you think so...we've been thinking. We might have a plan."

* * *

Something was wrong. Jon felt it the second his feet touched earth, a throbbing worry behind his eyes. He fidgeted, antsy in spite of the slowly sinking sun and Martin and Tim's obvious travel-weariness. "I have to go to the Institute," he said, as Tim tapped his phone to call for a car. "You don't have to come with me, I just...something isn't right."

  
"I'll come with you," Martin said immediately.

  
Tim sighed, typed something into his phone, and said, "Car will be here in 10 minutes. That quick enough?"

  
"No--yes? I don't know."

  
Sellig leaned over Tim's shoulder. "Cecilea could get there faster," he said.

  
Jon and Cecilea both started at that, exchanging glances as if they had forgotten that was something they could do, now. "You--" Jon started, but Cecilea had already spread her wings.

  
"He's right," she said, She nuzzled her face against Jon's, cooing quietly. "Come after me," she said, and took off.

  
Jon gasped, bracing for pain that didn't come as he watched her go. He stared into the sky until she vanished, swallowed by the busy city skyline, and resigned himself to waiting for the car.

* * *

Melanie had crumpled into a heap, vaguely aware that she was clinging to Basira and that Daisy was stood above her with a gun aimed at Elias' head.

  
Elias, whose hand was wrapped firmly around one of Roland's horns, holding his head up even as his legs had collapsed underneath him.

  
"Be reasonable, Daisy. We both know you won't do it."

  
She hated him. God, she _hated_ him, she should have wrung Sibyl's sorry neck when she'd had the chance, should never have trusted that flea-bitten chicken--

  
"I don't need to kill you, just _hurt you_ bad enough."

  
"How good is your aim?" Melanie _felt_ him shake Roland, like he was a ragdoll, like he was a prop to make a point, and she groaned through her teeth.

  
_"Shoot him,"_ she hissed. Basira's grip on her tightened. _"Goddamnit, just do it--"_

  
"What do you want, Elias?" Basira's voice was as collected as ever, and for a moment Melanie hated her, too, that she could be composed while Melanie's soul was flayed in front of her eyes, while every curl of Elias' fingers was burned into her brain forever.

  
"To talk, that's all."

  
"Then put him down."

  
"I think it's only fair I return the favor," Elias said. "After all the company you've kept with Sibyl lately."

  
Melanie's breath hitched; she felt Basira go stiff under her.

  
"The fuck are you talking about," Daisy said. Val snarled in sharp contrast to Daisy's inflectionless question, her yellow eyes settling on Sibyl, still and silent at Elias' side.

  
"Your colleagues have been conspiring," Elias said lightly. "I felt it was important to demonstrate why this was a _poor decision."_ He shook Roland's head again and Melanie's vision went grey at the edges.

  
"She wanted us to _help_ you," Basira said, in the sort of tone one would use to talk down someone on the wrong side of a safety rail. "She...she wanted you back."

  
"Ah," said Elias. "I think I see the confusion. What I need you all to understand is, _I never left."_

  
If there was more he was going to say, he was cut off by a furious screech. Cecilea came careening through the door and collided with Sibyl, knocking her from where she perched on a desk onto the floor in a flurry of feathers and talons. Bright whorls of golden dust swirled up from Sibyl's wounds--but she didn't fight back, and Elias merely arched an eyebrow, rather than collapsing in a screaming heap. Cecilea hesitated, poised to strike, her head pivoting to stare at Elias.

  
He kicked her.

  
(On the steps of the Institute, Jon stumbled and fell to all fours, retching.)

  
Elias dropped Roland into an insensate heap, strode over to Sibyl, and picked her up. She hung limply in his arms as he gently stroked her feathers back into order. "Whatever misconceptions you may have of me," he said carefully, "there are more pressing matters at hand, here. You have vital work to be doing, and it won't do to have you distracted by your distaste for me."

  
He turned to face the door just as an ashen-faced Jon stumbled through it, flanked by Tim and Martin, looking panicked and furious in equal measure. "When you have averted the end of our world," he said coolly, _"then_ you may worry about ousting me. Is that clear?"

  
And he left, breezing out the door as if he weren't holding his bloodied daemon, as if he hadn't just assaulted two of his employees in rapid succession.

  
Jon lurched forward to scoop Cecilea into his arms as the room exploded into chaos around him.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Supplemental.

[CLICK]

  
[ARCHIVIST]  
[heavy sigh] It's remarkable how quickly things return to normal, here.

  
[CECILEA]   
For a given measure of normal.

  
[ARCHIVIST]  
Clear away the worms, scrub up the blood...read a statement. [bitter laughter] Feed your god.

  
The others know about what happened in the arctic, now. A...version of it, anyway. I would have liked to keep our new...range...a secret for a bit longer, at least from Elias, but that...didn't happen. And now that whatever alliance or, or deal Melanie and Sibyl had made has fallen apart, who knows how many secrets we can actually manage to keep from him.

  
[CECILEA]  
Amosis suspects that whatever happened to her is similar to what happened to Jane Prentiss' daemon. She--or perhaps her link to Elias--was...devoured. Taken by the Beholding. Elias' insistence that he is who he has always been does seem to contradict the idea that he's been taken over by some kind of body-hopping embodiment of the Eye, but... We've been over a thousand theories, since we got back. We don't know what he is. What he's capable of.

  
[tape whirring]

  
[ARCHIVIST]  
It isn't important. He has to be stopped, regardless. Misconceptions or no. Tomorrow we're going to retrieve Gertrude's "Plan B," and hopefully--

  
[knocking]

  
\--Oh, uh--yes, come in.

  
[door opens]

  
Oh--Melanie, are you--

  
[MELANIE]  
Fine. I just...Basira told me what happened. That you tried to help.

  
[ARCHIVIST]  
I...I'm afraid I didn't do a particularly good job of it.

  
[MELANIE]  
It's fine. I shouldn't have trusted that damn pigeon in the first place. [brief pause] Sorry you got kicked.

  
[ARCHIVIST]  
It's...we're fine. You should be getting some rest.

  
[MELANIE]  
Yeah. [door opens] ...It's not gonna work, you know.

  
[ARCHIVIST]  
What?

  
[MELANIE]  
Your plan. I mean, maybe it'll work for a little while, but you're gonna have to kill him eventually. People-- _monsters_ like him don't just stop. You're going to have to _stop him._ [door closes]

  
[CECILEA]  
...Jon--

  
[CLICK]

[CLICK]

  
[MARTIN]  
Explosives?

  
[ARCHIVIST]  
Uh, yes. Quite a lot of them, in fact. She had mentioned it would need...rather...precise timing.

  
[MARTIN]  
W-well, yeah, but I thought she'd meant like... Do you think it will work?

  
[ARCHIVIST]  
She seemed to think so, and her...her judgement on these things has been...well, she hasn't been wrong yet.

  
[MARTIN]  
No, I guess not, but...

  
[ARCHIVIST]  
...It's...it's a solid plan. If we--

  
[CLICK]

[CLICK]

  
[TIM]  
\--witches in the Circus.

  
[ARCHIVIST]  
[deep sigh] Christ, of course there are. All right, that's...thank you.

  
[TIM]  
Think that astrologer saw something like that? Witches trying at some ritual?

  
[ARCHIVIST]  
Astronomer, not astrologer. [indistinct muttering from Tim] And maybe. Probably. It will be...that could be a problem, if there are any allied with Nikola. Or...or with...

  
[CLICK]

[CLICK]

  
[CECILEA]  
What do you want. [silence] _Sibyl._

  
[SIBYL]  
[distantly] I don't...remember. Is Jon still with you?

  
[CECILEA]  
...He's gone to investigate a possible ritual site. He won't be back until tomorrow night.

  
[SIBYL]  
Yes...yes, of course.

  
[CECILEA]  
[after an uncomfortable pause] What...what happened to you?

  
[SIBYL]  
Synthesis, I think. I think...I am what's left.

  
[CECILEA]  
...You're like us, now. Like me and Jon.

  
[SIBYL]  
No. I don't think we're very much alike at all, anymore.

  
[CLICK]

[CLICK]

  
[BASIRA]  
\--that even mean, what's left?

  
[CECILEA]  
I--I--I don't know, that's just what she told me, I--

  
[BASIRA]  
Okay, okay. You've, you've met them, haven't you? People like...like him? What were they like?

  
[CECILEA]  
Well, they...they were all different, it wasn't... Jude Perry's was...dead. She said she ki...that he...he burned. Mike Crew's was alive and they seemed...normal, almost? She could be far away from him--

  
[AMOSIS]  
Like you and Jon.

  
[CECILEA]  
I...s-sort of. I just mean that there wasn't...it changes, I think, depending on what they...serve.

  
[BASIRA]  
I see. And...you think he wants you to--

  
[CLICK]  
  
[CLICK]

  
[sounds of tapping, then shuffling, a window creaking open]

  
[MAXA]  
Nevermore.

  
[ARCHIVIST]  
What are you _doing_ here? How did you find me?

  
[MAXA]  
It wasn't hard. You're not very subtle, waltzing around without a daemon. Things have taken notice.

  
[ARCHIVIST]  
I didn't want to...one of us had to stay at the Archives.

  
[MAXA]  
Yeah. Gerry is heading there, next. To London, anyway, if not the Institute; we're going to help you.

  
[ARCHIVIST]  
I don't...I don't understand. You were free! Why did you come back?

  
[MAXA]  
We have our reasons. Oh, and I brought you a present, if you're gonna keep wandering around without Cecilea, being obvious. [faint clinking noises]

  
[ARCHIVIST]  
Your insect lockbox? Don't you need it?

  
[MAXA]   
Picked up a cheap one at the airport. I'm not planning on spending so much time away from him, when I get back. It won't fool everything, but it will help a bit.

  
[a long silence, the sounds of a necklace chain being pooled from palm to palm]

  
[MAXA]  
You'll need our help if there really are witches in the Circus. You'll need all the help you can get.

  
[ARCHIVIST]  
I'm starting to see that. I don't understand why you want to help me in the first place.

  
[MAXA]  
Maybe I don't want the world to change horribly. Maybe it's just very selfish of me.

  
[ARCHIVIST]  
Gertrude was doing a better job of things.

  
[MAXA]  
Gertrude isn't here anymore. And...Gertrude was going to die because she didn't have anyone left who...wanted her to live. Not enough.

  
[ARCHIVIST]  
...Right. Right. You're right. Tha--

  
[CLICK]

[CLICK]

  
[STATIC]

  
[MARTIN]  
\--nks for agreeing to meet with me. I know you're busy. I'll try to be quick.

  
[PETER LUKAS]  
Oh, don't worry. For you, Martin, I have all the time in the world.

  
[STATIC]

  
[CLICK]


End file.
